


Blackout Zone

by Prospero



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Chocolate, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Romance, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:24:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prospero/pseuds/Prospero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There are two things I'd fight to the death for. My sister and my home, in that order." —Dr. Simon Tam </p><p>A prequel, chronicling Serenity's early travels in the 'verse and Simon's search and rescue of River. Includes perspectives of all the crew and the special hells they put themselves through. Much Zoe/Wash, for they are wonderful. As the majority of the story takes place pre-series, the other pairings are hinted at.</p><p>This story is being rewritten, expanded, and streamlined as of 1/13/16.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Code

**Author's Note:**

> Very Important Notes:
> 
> This version of Blackout Zone has been extensively rewritten, expanded, and streamlined as of January 13, 2016. If you began reading the story before then, you will want to start over at the beginning, or certain plot points won't make sense to you.
> 
> In the timeline of the 'verse I'm using, River went to the Academy early in the year 2515. The events of the series begin in the year 2517.
> 
> Reference is made in this story to River drawing matryoshka dolls. We see her doing this in the episode Ariel, near the end.
> 
> This is not a exactly a romance, though it does contain a great deal of Zoe/Wash. In the interest of full disclosure: I do occasionally hint at some Kaylee/Inara and some Mal/Simon, but it is in no way rampant, especially as this is decidedly pre-canon.
> 
> This chapter was beta'd by Anbessette and KrisEleven. Many thanks
> 
> And finally: I do not own the genius that is Firefly; that honor goes to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
> 
> Translations: Are below.  
> Ni ta ma de. Tianxia suoyoude ren. Dou gaisi—Everyone under the heavens ought to go die  
> Fei hua—Rubbish  
> Jian tal de gui—Like hell  
> Zhen de shi tiancai—An absolute genius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the timeline of the 'verse I'm using, River went to the Academy early in the year 2515. The events of the series begin in the year 2517.
> 
> I do not own the genius that is Firefly; that honor goes to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
> 
> Beta'd by KrisEleven. Many thanks!
> 
> Translations: Are in mouseover. Also below.  
> Jian tal de gui - Like hell  
> Kewu de lao baojun - Horrible old tyrant  
> Dang ran - Of course  
> Zhen de shi tiancai - An absolute genius

**The planet Osiris, November of the year 2515**

If anyone had asked Simon Tam what he would fight to the death for, he would have replied: His sister and his home, in that order. Not that Simon would ever trust his own skills in a fight, and at the moment, as he sat in a bar full of outlaws bristling with guns and knives, he was regretting that deeply. In a small and rather macabre attempt to keep himself calm, he was doing his best to diagnose his own condition.

_Heart rate—highly elevated, entire cardiovascular area working overtime. Motor control—slightly shaky, unusual as the patient regularly works as a trauma surgeon. Muscles—tensed for action, receiving energy boost from adrenaline. Nervous system—high activity in the amygdale. Tentative diagnosis: Patient is scared out of his wits._

Simon didn't know why his contact, whose identity was as of yet unknown, had insisted on meeting in a blackout zone—one of the few sections of his home planet Osiris where the occupants were not constantly tracked by security cameras. Technically blackout zones were illegal, and as Simon hadn't done anything even mildly illegal in his entire life, being here held more tension for him than plunging his hands into a mess of bloody entrails. But if his suspicions were right…well, his parents hadn't listened to him about the letters he'd gotten from River, the ones that made no sense. Maybe they would after this.

"Move on out! Come on, let us through!"

"There'll be time enough for negotiating when you can prove you have the coin."

"I don't trust her, sir. I wouldn't..."

Simon gripped his drink and tried to shut out the noise. The bar's better-off residents were a mismatched collection of underground merchants, the men in oft-darned suits, the women in knockoffs imitating the latest fashions, all escorted by iron-faced guards who made no attempt to conceal their weapons. Mingled within the crowd were pickpockets ready to take advantage of the guest who looked more prosperous than usual, and Simon was keenly aware he fell into this category.

"I'll take another, and one for my friend here..."

_"Ni ta ma de. Tianxia suoyoude ren. Dou gaisi!"_

"That ain't nearly enough for what you're askin'—"

"More for you?"

Simon jumped as he realized he was being addressed by the bartender. "Um, no thank you, I'll just…"

"Wise decision," said a voice in his ear. A tall, slender woman with a few strands of her wavy brown hair escaping from a scarf settled herself on the stool next to Simon. "One for me, though, if we're going to talk business."

Simon swiveled around and stared at the professor who'd hammered the essentials of trauma surgery into his head. Of all the people to be in a blackout zone—"Dr. Mahdavi? You— _you're_ my contact?"

Robina Mahdavi surveyed him through sharp eyes. "Simon Tam. You were never prone to such unlawful behavior in MedAcad. Save, of course, for that incident with the statue of Hippocrates."

"I've…changed. And so have you, it seems. I had no notion I'd see you here."

Dr. Mahdavi looked grim. "You obviously do not have access to my Alliance profile. Unless I want to leave the Central Planets, I'm stuck in places like this, where they can't track me."

Simon frowned. "I thought you'd gone to be with your family on Londinium."

"Yes, I believe the Alliance put it out that I retired there for my health with two dogs or some such. All _fei hua_ , of course. I've never been better and I prefer cats."

"But why? I don't understand."

"I'm an outlaw now for doing the same thing you're trying to do. Find out information about the Academy students." Mahdavi accepted her drink from the bartender. "My nephew was accepted to the same program your River was. One day, his letters just—stopped."

"What happened?"

"His parents had no idea. They were out of their minds with worry. I got suspicious and did some investigating—wrote letters to the Academy, and when they weren't answered, started going to underground contacts."

"Did you get any answers?" Simon sat forward.

Mahdavi shook her head. "No. Nobody knew. But the Alliance found out somehow, and, long story short, they hauled me in on a trumped-up charge of treason."

"What?" Simon stared. "Treason? You're serious?"

"Deadly serious. If TALENT hadn't gotten me out, I don't know what would have happened."

"If who hadn't gotten you out?"

"It's an organization. I can't give you details about them—I promised I wouldn't."

"But if the Academy's going to that kind of lengths to keep what they're doing a secret…" Simon tried to keep his breathing regular. "That can't be good. You said you never found out what was going on, but—isn't there anything you can do?"

Mahdavi sipped her drink. "Not much on my own. But I can try to put you in contact with people who might know more than I do."

"Could you really?" Simon gripped his cup. "I'd do anything to get information about—"

"Simon. You need to think about this."

"What is there to think about?"

"A lot." Mahdavi leaned forward on her elbows. "You're a law-abiding citizen. You've got a good position in society. A job you love. You're able to walk down the street without the fear of being dragged off to jail or some psychiatric institute, or getting shot."

"What are you saying?" Simon demanded.

"I'm asking you how much you want to keep all that. Because if you care about your life here more than you care about your sister, there's no point in my getting in touch with the TALENT people."

Simon shook his head. "I have to know if River is safe."

"All right, then. It'll take time, though." Mahdavi sighed. "You're a good man, Simon. Try not to become a dead one."

**OoOoO**

"Excuse me—do you know if Dr. Ahuva Song will be back anytime soon?" Simon gripped the folder he'd brought with him, containing River's letters. Letters which he still had no evidence were in code.

The medical student Simon had stopped glanced down the hallway. "She's supposed to be back now. I don't know—oh, here she is."

Simon's best friend from MedAcad rounded the corner, wearing a lab coat and glasses and smelling strongly of chemicals, and broke out smiling. "Simon! Impeccable timing. I was just going to have to start writing that grant for Dr. Zhou, and I'm determined to put that off as long as possible. Come in."

"Which grant?" Simon stepped into Ahuva's office as she held the door for him. As usual, the place was a mess—scattered papers, old lab beakers, and garden pots filled with stat viewers scattered across every surface.

"Epidemiology research. I won't bore you with the details, since I know you prefer messing around with internal organs." Ahuva stepped inside and shut the door. "If Dr. Zhou makes me beg for money one more time, I'm putting anthrax in his evening martini. The fool seems to think he runs this hospital."

Simon laughed. "He does run this hospital."

 _"Jian tal de gui_ he does. If that man fell in a hole he'd spend his time writing articles on how the rest of us should pull him out of it." Ahuva shook her head. "So how are you? Still carving?"

"Yes. I've made a few matryoshka dolls lately, on the lathe at the studio after work." Carving soothed Simon, and the expert hand-eye coordination he'd developed as a surgeon certainly helped. And he needed all he could to keep his nerves in order lately. "I haven't painted them yet, though." A memory of River drawing a row of his finished matryoshka dolls swept over him, and he clutched the folder more tightly.

"So is this a social visit, or…?"

"No. Not exactly." Simon took a deep breath. "I need your help."

Ahuva frowned, obviously picking up on his anxiety. "What's the problem?"

"River's the problem. She's been sending me coded letters."

"Didn't River go to that government program? The elite one?"

"That's what we think. What we were told." Simon bit the inside of his mouth, cursing himself for not making more inquiries into the Academy while River was still with them. "But she never comes home. We aren't supposed to wave her. It makes the separation easier, they say. All we get are letters and they don't make any sense. They don't even sound like her."

"But you visited, didn't you?" Ahuva propped up her lab glasses. "Talked to other families who were sending their kids there? Any of them have this problem?"

"We didn't visit. They didn't offer, and because it seems we're idiots, we didn't insist. I did some research after the fact and there's nothing on the Cortex. Nothing. I dug through the Alliance official site for five hours, _and_ I've been writing asking to see her. No replies."

"Coded letters, you say? Did you bring them?"

"Of course." Simon handed her the folder, praying she would see something he'd missed. Breaking code had always been Ahuva's hobby, and he knew he could trust her.

Ahuva flipped through the pages. "I'm guessing it isn't River's habit to misspell words."

"She started correcting _my_ spelling when she was three. I don't remember the last time anyone managed to prove River wrong…about anything."

"Hmm. Isn't there some Earth-That-Was legend about how being too smart makes the demons jealous?" Ahuva crinkled her brow. "Who are the D'arbanvilles again? I'm not so high-society as you Tams."

"The D'arbanvilles don't exist. At least, our family doesn't know them, if they do."

"Simon." Ahuva peered at him seriously. "If that's the case, did you ever think you might not _want_ to hear what River's trying to tell you?"

Simon blinked. "No. Why wouldn't I?"

"Never mind. I'm most likely imagining Reavers where there's monkeys with leprosy." Ahuva tossed the folder back to Simon, plucked a pen out from the nearest chipped beaker, and handed it to him. "I have an hour or so. Circle any unfamiliar proper nouns. On all the letters. Then we'll get to work."

**OoOoO**

"All I want to know is if you're all right. Nothing more."

Simon looked at his mother's face in the wave screen. "I am fine. Never been better."

Regan Tam sighed. "Simon, your father and I, we know you're committed to your position. But it won't make you a bad doctor if you take some time off once in a while."

"What makes you think I'm not?"

"Dr. Stuart says he has to order you not to come in for longer than your contract covers."

"So?"

"Your contract covers up to sixty hours a week." Simon's mother creased her brow. "And he said you work on wood carvings over your lunch hours."

Simon bristled. "I'm allowed to—"

"You know your father thought it might be compulsive."

"Dad is wrong. My carving is a hobby. It helps me cope when patients don't make it."

"And Aidan and Joanna say you go straight home afterwards, never join them for drinks or socialize like you used to—"

"I'm tired after work, not cutting myself off from the world. I went to visit Ahuva Song today."

Regan smiled a little. "Your friend from MedAcad? That's nice." The smile turned to a look of worry. "You do know she wouldn't be suitable as—"

Simon had to suppress a sigh. He loved his parents, but the more time he spent reattaching severed limbs, the less time he had for their social snobbery—especially when it came to his romantic life. "For the last time, Ahuva would be perfectly suitable for me, if there was anything between us. Which there isn't."

"You spend a lot of time together."

Prying. Another thing with which he was growing less patient. "Because she's my best friend. One of the few girls I can actually talk to without saying the wrong thing every five seconds." Simon paused. "I brought her the letters River sent us. To see if—"

"Oh, Simon, you said you'd stop it with that nonsense."

"All I want to do is be sure." Simon took a breath. "Look, if there's a code, Ahuva will find it. If she doesn't, we'll know there's nothing to worry about. I'm getting a second opinion. Being realistic, as you want me to."

"This is insane." Regan shook her head. "Maybe you needed to say something to us. We're your parents. We're River's parents. But you cannot bring someone from outside the family into our private business like this."

"I left her copies of River's letters, not our banking statements!"

"I'm worried about you, Simon! Six months ago you would never have—"

"Six months ago I didn't have to worry that I'd never see my sister again!"

Simon knew he'd gone too far as his mother's face went tight. "If I thought we would never see River again," she said coldly, "I'd move heaven and earth to get her back. It is not fair of you to imply I love her less than you do, Simon."

"I'm sorry." Simon gripped the rim of the table. "I just—I'm scared for her."

"But that's what we're trying to tell you. There is _no reason_ to be scared. And when you see River next, I'm sure she'll tell you that herself."

**OoOoO**

Everything in this office, from the hard steel chair upon which Simon now sat, to the enormous, gleaming desk that separated him from the Alliance official, was designed to intimidate—and it was doing a marvelous job. Even at his first major unassisted surgery, Simon couldn't remember ever having been this nervous.

The official's smile did nothing to reassure him. "I'm sure you're wondering why you're here."

 _Of course I'm wondering why I'm here, you practically grabbed me off the street on my way home from work…_ Simon tried to keep his face impassive. "I'll admit I am."

"Well, let me enlighten you." The official stood and made his way around the desk, placing a hand on the back of Simon's chair and standing far too close for comfort. As Simon knew that invading personal space was a standard interrogation procedure, this made him want to run away. "You're worried about your sister."

"Not—worried, exactly." If what Mahdavi had said was true, letting this official know all of what he thought was a bad idea. "More—concerned. Because we haven't been allowed to see her for so long. It doesn't seem standard."

"Your sister is not standard," the official said warmly. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you, of all people, how exceptional she is."

Try to build rapport—another standard interrogation procedure. Simon was determined not to fall for any of it. "Yes, River's extraordinary, but she's still a fourteen-year-old girl away from home for the first time in her life. It's only natural she should want to visit us. It's only natural _we_ should want to see _her."_ He shut up. He couldn't afford to make the official more suspicious than he obviously already was.

"Perfectly natural. But I'm sure you'll understand—not only is your sister far from standard, but the same is true of the Academy. To get the kind of education she deserves—that she _requires_ —this separation is necessary."

"But why is that?"

The official waved off the question. "As I've said, your concern for your sister is perfectly understandable. But given your questionable behavior, I'm afraid you cannot be allowed to see her."

"Can't be allowed?" Simon gripped the edge of his chair, feeling the metal bite into his hand and wishing the official would stand just a bit farther away. "And what do you mean, my questionable behavior? I've never broken the law in my life, my record at the AMI is impeccable—"

"But there was a period of approximately two hours where we have no record of you on our public surveillance cameras—and you were nowhere near your place of residence when you vanished. You were, in fact, quite near a blackout zone."

Were they really watching him that closely? "How did you get clearance to see that? I thought the security cameras—"

"Given the inquiries you made over your sister's location—" the official walked over to the desk and picked up a printout of what Simon recognized as one of the letters he'd written asking for information about River "—the local Alliance made the decision to allow a one-time examination of your movements. It won't happen again...provided, of course, that you permit your sister's education to continue uninterrupted."

Simon very nearly opened his mouth to yell that he'd do no such thing until he had answers. He stopped himself just in time, remembering Mahdavi's words. _Long story short, they hauled me in on a trumped-up charge of treason._ "Of course. I understand. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize River's experience at the Academy."

"Good man." The official patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sure when you see the results of your sister's training, you'll agree the separation was worth it."

**OoOoO**

"River really is _zhen de shi tiancai."_ Ahuva ruffled the edges of River's stacked letters. "I would never have found this code if I hadn't been looking for it."

"So there is a code."

"Oh, yes. But..."

"What?" Simon tried to tamp down on the sick feeling rising in his stomach.

"This is—this is dangerous." Ahuva bit her lip. "If this means what I think it does, River's in trouble—and so are we, just for knowing about it."

"Let me see them." Simon held out his hand.

Instead of giving him the letters, Ahuva looked him straight in the eye. "Have you ever been on a penal moon?"

"No."

"Well, I have, for research, and it's making me think I should tear these up right now. Because once you see them, it'll set you on a path straight there, and Simon, I know you aren't weak, but you'd probably lose your mind in prison."

"I'll lose my mind if I lose River." Simon dug his nails into his palms. "Give me those letters, Ahuva. Please."

Wordlessly, Ahuva handed over the folder, and Simon opened it to see the printouts. The original writing was barely visible under a swarm of scribbling, but the deciphered code, scrawled in red pencil, was clear enough: the same words, over and over again.

_They're hurting us. Get me out. They're hurting us. Get me out. They're hurting us. Get me out..._


	2. Unification Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: Are below.  
> Go-se—Crap  
> Qing-wa cao de liu mang—Frog-humping son of a bitch  
> Ta ma de! Nimen de bizui—Everybody shut the hell up  
> He chu-sheng za-jiao de zang-huo—Filthy fornicators of livestock
> 
> Beta'd by Anbessette and KrisEleven. Many thanks!

**The planet Boros, May of the year 2516**

"Next time, sir, I'm staying on the ship to play at dinosaurs with my husband."

Zoe Washburne's former sergeant quirked an eyebrow at her. "After all we've been through, knowing you don't enjoy my charming conversation—that hurts me, Zoe. Wounds me to the heart."

"To speak plainly, sir, most of your conversation tonight's been with your glass. And if you keep drinking and not eating, you'll most likely give _yourself_ a broken nose when the brawling starts."

"And what makes you think that, if there be any brawling tonight, I'll be wanting in on it? Most folk here seem to be in the mood for celebrating."

Zoe glanced around the bar, crammed to the bursting with trigger-happy Alliance supporters passing their third bottles down the narrow counters, and put on her most innocent expression. "I don't know, sir. Can't help but wonder, though, why we're here, when the Dyton Outlaw is two streets over and a good bit cheaper too."

Mal took another gulp of his drink and scanned the room, where a man in a worn blue shirt was just tumbling off his stool, and a woman in the corner was raising her glass in her fourth toast of the evening. "Better food."

"True enough." Zoe took another bite, savoring the first non-protein meal she'd had in several weeks. "Order some, why don't you?"

"I'll eat when we're back on Serenity."

"We could always head back now." Zoe set down her chopsticks. "I'm near done here."

"Want to finish this drink."

The former corporal sighed, and waved down the bartender.

"What can I do for you?"

"Mind getting me a box for the rest of this?"

"Not a problem." The woman plucked a container off a shelf behind her head and tossed it down the counter.

"Thanks." Zoe began putting part of what was left of her meal in a box for Wash. He'd always had a thing for fresh _bao,_ and hadn't been dirt-side since their last job.

A loud crash sounded from their right, as the man in the blue shirt kicked the offending stool out of his way, and lurched across the room to where the piano player was valiantly trying to make her music heard above the drunken cacophony. "Enough of that _go-se!_ Let's hear the National Anthem!"

The piano player struck up the requested song, and the majority of the bar promptly began singing along, with great variation in both skill and key. Zoe resisted the urge to smack someone with her empty plate, and watched, now resigned, as Mal began to pointedly hum a dirty drinking song she was fairly sure he'd picked up from Badger.

Halfway through the third verse, an enormous man with long red hair tied in a ponytail broke off his song and strode up to Mal. "Think you're too good for us, don't you? I ain't seen you toast the Alliance tonight."

"Oversight." Mal raised his glass with a flourish. "To the great Alliance, for their special gift of nothing to poor working folk like ourselves." Half of those in earshot yelped in indignation; the other half apparently being drunk enough to take Mal's toast as a genuine compliment to their government.

The red-haired man bristled. "You makin' fun of me?"

"No, no, my friend. I expect that happens to you far too much as it is." Mal patted the man on the shoulder. "But I ain't finished yet. To the great Alliance, for every fine I've ever paid, for every checkpoint I've ever gotten stuck behind, for—"

"Is he being sarcastic?" a woman to their left asked. Zoe ignored her and glanced around the bar, taking in the odds. It wasn't as bad as it could have been—a healthy percentage of the crowd was watching the blue-shirted man attempt to climb the piano—but it was still far from good.

"Cow-sucking Independents!" A slight man in a black coat charged at Mal, who merely stepped out of the way and let him run into the counter.

Mal smiled brightly at Zoe before ducking under the red-haired man's punch to knee him in the groin. Zoe grabbed an empty nearby bench and used it to ward off a man and woman who were descending on her with raised fists. Moving to be back to back with Mal, who was brandishing an empty bottle plucked from the abundance on the counter, she swung the bench in a wide circle, clubbing the woman in the stomach. Her victim fell back, gasping, and the man moved in with a shout of rage. Zoe caught several punches on her makeshift shield with ease, but began to rethink the situation when she saw the glint of metal.

_"Qing-wa cao de liu mang!"_ Mal staggered against Zoe's back, but, with her attacker bearing down with a blade as long as his forearm, she had no time to see how badly he'd been hit. Ducking at the last moment, she caught the knife in the bars of the bench and jerked it from his hands. She pulled the blade free just as the man in the black coat jumped from the counter onto her back. Zoe bashed him in the nose with the handle of the knife before rolling away and scanning the crowd for Mal.

He was limping, she noticed immediately, but several of the bar fighters looked worse. Zoe entertained a brief hope that they might get out of this relatively unscathed, until she heard the snap of a gun cocking.

"Duck!" She tackled her captain just as the gun went off. Unfortunately, they hit a nearby table and crashed to the ground amid a shower of broken bottles and spilled drinks.

"Evan! Put that away, right now!" Zoe rolled over to see the bartender shouting at the gun's holder, a short man with a braid of black hair. "You want to give the mayor one more excuse to shut this place down?"

"Murderers! Browncoat scum!" the man screamed, sending an array of bullets at Mal. Luckily, the table took most of them, but Zoe felt Mal jerk against her as one grazed his cheek. "You killed them! They're all dead!"

The bartender jerked the gun from the black-haired man's hand. _"Ta ma de! Nimen de bizui!"_ The crowd nearest her quieted somewhat, but Zoe doubted it would last long. "You two. Out. And the rest of you, don't be following if you want to set foot in this bar again!" Most of the men and women grumbled assent as Zoe hauled Mal's arm around her shoulders and dragged him out the door.

Mal winked at his first mate. "Well, that was fun."

"Sir?"

"Corporal?"

"You're drunk."

**OoOoO**

"Gorram drunkard's got a kick like a mule," Mal muttered as he limped into the cargo bay, leaning on Zoe. "I ain't gonna be walking straight for a week."

"Hmm. Suppose it's too much to ask you to stay off it." Zoe deposited Mal on the weight bench and went to the com on the wall. "Wash, we're back."

"I trust you're safe and sound and not missing more than two limbs each?" came her husband's cheerful voice through the com.

"Affirmative. Where's Kaylee?"

"Here!" The mechanic hopped down the stairs. "You're hurt! How'd it happen?"

"Just a tussle with some folk as hold the Alliance in a higher regard than they deserve."

"Sure everythin's okay?" Kaylee hovered over Mal, shifting from foot to foot. "That's an awful lot of blood."

"Cuts on the face bleed more'n you'd think. Zoe rescued me afore anyone did any real damage." Mal grinned at Kaylee, holding Zoe's handkerchief to his face. "Heard you had a tussle of your own with the flare dispenser."

"All fixed now.” Kaylee yawned and rubbed her smudged face with the back of one hand. "Think I'll turn in, 'less ya need anythin'?"

"We'll be fine." Zoe turned away from the com and heaved Mal to his feet. "Just going to get this stitched up." The two of them headed slowly for the infirmary.

The mechanic skipped up the stairs towards her bunk before turning around suddenly. "Oh, hey, Captain. Meant to ask ya earlier, but I picked up some paints at the market the other day. Wouldja mind if I put some flowers 'round the kitchen? It'd pretty things up real nice in there."

"Sure, why not?" Mal winced as his injured knee tapped the doorframe.

"Shiny! Thanks, Captain!" Kaylee dashed off towards her bunk, while Zoe and Mal stumbled into the infirmary. Mal dropped onto the exam chair while Zoe grabbed a clean cloth and the disinfectant off the shelf.

"Better clean that graze, sir."

"Better clean what?" Wash stood at the door. "Wow, Mal. Looks like you made a new friend! I'm so eager to not meet them!"

"Hey, I was being real polite. Ain't my fault he decided to take offense." Mal tipped the disinfectant onto the cloth and began to wipe the blood from his face.

Zoe kissed her husband quickly before going to hunt through the drawers. "Looks like we're out of painkillers, sir."

Mal shrugged. "Wouldn't want to waste 'em on this in any case."

"Ever thought of using some of the piles and piles of credits we've just got lying around to hire a medic?" Wash inquired as his wife located a suturing needle and a pair of forceps.

"Husband, you criticizing my doctoring skills?" Zoe grinned briefly as she sterilized her tools.

Wash held up his hands in defense. "Why do you think so little of me? I only wish to keep your lovely perfumed feet from having to touch the ground unless necessary!"

Zoe shook her head, while Mal shot his pilot a questioning look. "Perfumed feet?"  

"You'd be surprised. I've heard there's Companions that specialize in..." Wash glanced at Zoe. "Strictly gossip, however. _I_ have no experience with such things. But, Mal, seriously, if you rented out one of the shuttles, things might be a bit less no-idea-where-our-next-meal-will-come-from around here."

"Speaking of meals, there's a cardboard box of _bao_ in my bag," Zoe informed him. "Thought you might be tired of protein."

"Have I told you today that I love you?"

"Yes. But no complaints here."

Wash went to the door as Zoe began to stitch up the captain's face. "If you need me, I'll be on the bridge, light of my eyes. _"_ He disappeared up the stairs.

Zoe tied off the sutures. "You going to get something to eat afore you turn in?"

Mal slid off the exam chair. "Ain't hungry."

"That better not have anything to do with that man as near blew a hole in your face. He was off his head and you know it."

"Wonder which battle his folks were in. Sounded like he had a right personal grudge."

"Don't reckon there's a point in dwelling on it." Zoe began cleaning the forceps and needle.

"No, I suppose not." Mal crossed the threshold. "Goodnight, Zoe."

"Goodnight, sir." Zoe sighed, and finished washing the tools before stowing them back in the drawer. She paused for a few minutes under the infirmary's harsh light. _Four years,_ she thought, _four years, and neither he nor I are any further out of that gorram valley than we were then. And Mal, he ain't willing to share what happened to him there with nobody. At least I trust Wash enough to let him in sometimes._

The thought of her husband sent Zoe up the stairs to the bridge. Wash sat in the pilot's chair, his stegosaurus in one hand and the tyrannosaurus rex in the other. "Oh, thank you, T-Rex, for saving me from the great river of the control panel! Now I will trust you with my life, even though you are a hungry scheming meat-eating predator and I am probably dinner!" Upon closer examination, Zoe saw that he'd clustered the other dinosaurs around the box of _bao_ with their heads inside as if they were nibbling at it.

Zoe grinned. Even if she'd never leave Serenity herself, she could take comfort in the fact that at this moment, all was right with Wash's world.

Her husband swiveled around in his chair. "So where are we headed next? Or was Mal too drunk to say anything about it?"

"He mentioned earlier that there might be a job for us on St. Albans." Zoe leaned against the console. "I reckon we'll take that, if nothing better comes up."

Wash frowned. "It's awfully cold on St. Albans."

"No naked beaches?" Zoe teased.

"A pity, yes, but I was more thinking along the lines of you not liking snow." Wash tilted his head to one side. "Mal doesn't like it either. Is that a war thing? You don't have to talk about it," he added hastily. "Just wondering."

Zoe gazed out at the stars. On Boros, the pollution wasn't so bad she couldn't see them. "We spent a winter once—we got cold every year, 'course. You'd get a lot of folk with frostbite, some freezing to death." She paused a moment.

"Frostbite and freezing to death sound pretty nasty to me," Wash observed.

"Not saying they weren't. But they don't stand out to me as much as—one time, we touched down in late fall, planning to be out by the time winter rolled around. Locals didn't tell us that there was whiteouts on the way, and that year, they came early. Snow blew so hard and thick you couldn't see your hand before your face."

Wash winced. "I'm guessing with that much ice it was hard to land evacuation vessels?"

"They didn't send any. Were needed elsewhere. Reckon the captain wouldn't of gone, in any case. Would've sent others first."

"And you'd have stayed with him."

"'Course. Anyway, it got so the standard winter issue wasn't enough. Some of us were lucky and got extra clothes from home—me and the captain included. But whenever someone'd freeze to death, the others would strip their gear off, use it to keep themselves warm." Zoe paused, and had to suppress a shiver at the memory of what had happened next. "Couldn't grudge 'em that, but I guess that was what gave Jienson the idea..."

"To do what?" Wash prompted when Zoe didn't go on.

"We woke up one morning to find she'd slit Arden's throat and stolen his clothes. Captain was mad enough to shoot her right there, but we needed every soldier we could spare. Would've been better if he had, though, 'cause then everyone started doing it, killing each other—not just for their gear, for their rations too."

Wash stared. _"Wo de tian, a._ How'd it end?"

"They finally evacuated us, after maybe a third were down, from killing or just plain freezing."

"No wonder you don't like snow."

Zoe shrugged. "I can manage, if I have to."

Wash covered her hand with his. "You don't have to right now. We'll find a nice, warm, inside place to be after the job is done."

Zoe smiled. As tough as she knew she had to be, basking in the glow of Wash's affections certainly had its benefits. "Like our bunk, husband?"

"Like our bunk."

**OoOoO**

_They were eating each other, in that valley they'd held for two months. Fighting over the carcasses of rats, with the winners chewing up the very bones. Getting thirsty enough to lick up spilled water from the dirt. Words like clean, words like safe, words like kindness—all dropped somewhere between the last package of protein and the first time you realized if you dug for a hundred years you couldn't bury the bodies._

_They thought it was the end when they got out. But it was just the start. Driven out of their hell by folk who couldn't care less if they died on the march, folk who didn't see them as people. They raped women so thin you could see their skulls, scouted the trenches for dead men's tokens, shot anyone who ran—_

"Zoe! Zoe, wake up!"

Gasping, Zoe shoved away her blankets, eyes wide from the nightmare. The bunk was dark, but she could still see Wash's worried face in the shadows. "Sorry," she managed, trying to keep her voice steady. "Just a—"

"You don't need to be sorry." Wash pulled her into his arms, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "Nightmare, right?" Zoe nodded. "Serenity?"

Weren't hardly a surprise he'd guessed. As bad as most of her war memories were, few were terrifying enough to invade her sleep after so long. Serenity, though…she doubted she'd ever stop dreaming about that valley. That, and what came after.

"We thought they were coming to save us," Zoe said, finally leaning back against the pillows. Although it hurt to talk about what had happened, she tended to feel better afterwards. It almost felt like confession, though she knew she'd done naught wrong. "After we'd spent so long in Serenity, you know. Thought that once we got out, the worst would be over."

Wash was silent—Zoe knew he didn't want to push her—but his eyes were fixed on her face.

"The Browncoats, when they negotiated the peace—part of it was, they gave up those of us left in the valley as prisoners of war." Mayhap it was that betrayal as had hurt the most. "So the Alliance, they sent us to camps for—hell, don't know how long. Captain and I, we was part of the command, some of the few left alive. So they put us in solitary."

_"He chu-sheng za-jiao de zang-huo."_ Wash's voice was quiet, but held a venom he rarely displayed.

"Guess that's why he went looking for a ship practically as soon as we got out." Zoe found Wash's hand and laced his fingers in with hers. "Spent so long in those gorram cells, never got to see the sky. Sent him looking to be sure they could never take that from him again."

"And you?"

Zoe leaned over and kissed him. "You were my sky."


	3. Switchover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earlier version beta'd by KrisEleven. Many thanks!
> 
> Translations: Are below.  
> Ta ma de hun dan—Mother-humping son of a bitch  
> Le-se—Garbage  
> Wang-ba dan de biao-zi—Whores of sons of bitches  
> Baobei—Sweetheart

**The planet Three Hills, May of the year 2516**

Jayne Cobb, king of the sniper rifle and known for his potency and prowess on every planet where he hit dirtside, preferred guns to people when all was said and done. A man could count on his weapon to be fair consistent, day in and day out, 'less he was careless and didn't repair her right. And one thing Jayne weren't was careless with his guns.

People weren't anywhere near that reliable.

"I told you he weren't to be trusted, Marco!" the indignant henchman shouted after his leader. "Didn't I tell him, Jayne?"

Jayne propped up his feet on a spare crate. "Hey, Bruno, ya don't want in on this, I'll have your share."

"What's there left to have in on, huh? Alferes sold us out, the _ta ma de hun dan!"_ Bruno turned back to the door to the bridge, where Marco had vanished. "And I said he would, but you never listen to me, do you? If I told you once, I told you ten times—"

"Fifteen." Jayne drew one of his numerous knives and began picking his teeth.

Bruno paused in his ranting to shoot a look at his ally. "Fifteen what?"

"Ya told him fifteen times. Sixteen, countin' this one. Gonna make our ears fall off."

Bruno kicked the crate out from under Jayne's feet. "You keep hirin' cheap whores like the one you had last night, ears ain't the only thing as is gonna be fallin' off!"

"Ya just think that 'cause you kiss 'em on the mouth."

"Shut up, you two," came Marco's voice from the bridge. "I'm gettin' a wave here."

"Who cares? We ain't—"

Jayne threw his knife into the wall a foot from Bruno's ear. He leaped back and glared, but seemed to think better of any further lecturing. Jayne pulled out a second knife and began sharpening it. Bruno, having worn out his brains for the day coming up with Reasons Why Alferes Ain't To Be Trusted, stared sullenly into space.

After a few minutes had passed, Marco strolled back into the decrepit room that served as a kitchen for his crew. "Good news, boys. Looks like the double-crosser got double-crossed. 'Least, accordin' to him, that's what happened."

"Deserved it enough," Jayne grunted. "Ya got a point?"

"Point bein', he's willin' to let us take the goods back from those as crossed him. Told me who they are. Crew of some _le-se_ Firefly."

"Won't end well," Bruno prophesied. "Nothin' to do with Alferes—"

Jayne interrupted. "Won't they be expectin' somethin' like this? Hid the goods somewhere?"

Marco grinned. "That's where you come in. Reckon you can make 'em say where they dropped 'em?"

Jayne reached over and wrenched his knife out of the wall. "Can do, boss."

**OoOoO**

Tracking the _wang-ba dan de biao-zi_ they'd been passed over for didn't prove as easy as Jayne had expected, but that was more than made up for by the fact that they caught at least two of the crew by surprise—and from the looks of things, those were the ones in charge. At least, no one else appeared to be swooping down to the rescue.

"Well, looks like you boys got us right where you want us." The man in the brown coat seemed uncannily cheerful for being held at gunpoint. "It's the why I'm having trouble figuring out just now. Zoe?"

"More interested in the what happens next, sir."

"You cheated us!" Bruno couldn't keep his mouth shut. "Alferes was supposed to be holdin' those goods for us!"

"Well, we ain't got no say in how he conducts his business. Now, why don't we all just be reasonable here?"

"Reason?" Marco's tone betrayed his thoughts on the matter. "He's gonna talk to us about reason now."

"Yeah." Jayne snorted. "That's a joke."

The brown-coated man glanced at the woman beside him—Zoe, Jayne remembered. "Which one do you figure tracked us?"

"The ugly one, sir."

The man began nodding, then paused. "Could you be more specific?"

Jayne guessed he'd just been insulted, and these people were for sure not adequately afraid of him. He was ready to give as good as he got, but Marco beat him to it.

"Do we look reasonable to you?"

"Well," the man replied, "looks can be deceiving."

Jayne jumped in. "Not as deceivin' as a low-down, dirty..." He searched for the proper word. "Deceiver." Marco laughed.

"Well said," the man said seriously. "Wasn't that well said, Zoe?"

"Had a kind of poetry to it, sir," Zoe replied calmly.

Jayne was now certain he was being made fun of. "Ya want I should shoot 'em now, Marco?"

"Wait until they tell us where they put the stuff."

"That's a good idea," Jayne said approvingly, glancing from the brown-coated man to Zoe. "Good idea. Tell us where the stuff's at so I can shoot ya."

The man raised a hand. "Point of interest? Offering to shoot us might not work so well as an incentive as you might imagine." Jayne considered that. Man could have a point. "Anyway, we've hidden it. So, you kill us, you'll never find it."

"Found you easy enough," Jayne retorted.

"Yeah," the man said thoughtfully. "Yeah, you did, didn't you." He considered Jayne for a moment. "How much they paying you?"

Jayne blinked. "Huh?"

"I mean, let's say you did kill us. Or didn't. There could be torture. Whatever. But somehow you found the goods. What would your cut be?"

"Seven percent, straight off the top," Jayne informed him. Marco had made a point, when he'd hired Jayne, of pointing out that he didn't take out the costs of running their ship before paying his crew. People on a ship like this probably couldn't manage that much.

"Seven?" The man looked surprised. "Huh."

"What?"

"Hmm? Nothing. Not a thing. No, I just..." He glanced at Zoe. "That seem low to you?"

"It does, sir."

"That ain't low—"

Marco cut in. "Stop it!"

Jayne ignored him. "Seven percent's standard."

The man laughed, his eyes going to his colleague. "Okay, Zoe, I'm paying you too much."

"Why? What does she get?" Jayne demanded. _If Marco's cheatin' me..._

Said leader interrupted Jayne's thoughts. "Knock it off!"

"Look, forget I said anything," the man said soothingly. "I'm sure you're treated very well. You get all the perks...got your own room...No?"

_Own room? Now there's a concept..._

"You share a bunk?" the man demanded incredulously.

Jayne spared Bruno a look. "With that one." Bruno hastily raised his gun and tried to look intimidating.

"Really?"

"Jayne!" Marco looked ready to shoot. "This ain't funny!"

"Yeah, I ain't laughin.'"

"You move on over to our side," the man told him, "we'll not only show you where the stuff's at, we'll see to it you get your fair share. Not no sad seven."

Jayne didn't trust easy, but people smart enough to spin up a strategy like this at gunpoint were bound to come up with better plans than Marco, who created over-fancy heists one day, and got them caught for having outdated papers the next. And better plans meant more coin. "Private room?"

_"Jayne!"_

"Your own room. Full run of the kitchen. Whole shot."

_So that le-se ship has a kitchen worth the mentioning, does it?_

Marco's yammering interrupted him. "Jayne. I ain't askin'—"

Jayne shot him in the foot to rid himself of the distraction. "Shut up." He aimed the gun at Bruno, in case the man decided to prove he had more hair than brains. "How big a room?"

**OoOoO**

Turned out Jayne had no reason to regret his decision. 'Spite of what he'd implied, he and Marco and Bruno never woulda found the goods on their own. He'd kept Ella, the gun he carried, at the ready in case the man and Zoe had made up their minds to shoot him soon as he was away from the others, but as it happened, they seemed glad enough to have another pair of hands.

The man, who'd introduced himself to Jayne as Captain Malcolm Reynolds, directed Zoe and Jayne to help him store the crates in a hidden hatch of the Firefly, before going to the com on the wall. "Wash, take us out of the world." He turned to Jayne. "So, Jayne Cobb. See you know a good opportunity when you see one. Not a half-bad tracker, either. Presume you've got other skills, but we'll cover those later. Seeing as you haven't tried to shoot us yet—which is a habit you should cultivate, by the way—let's have you meet the rest of the crew. Zoe, where's Kaylee?"

"Believe she's in the engine room, sir. I'll go tell Wash not to crash the ship again." She climbed the stairs away from the cargo bay.

"She's jokin', right?" Jayne asked the captain, who was checking the hatch was secure. "Right?"

The captain straightened up and strode towards the stairs where Zoe had disappeared. "Come on up to the engine room. Our mechanic's in there. Best in the 'verse," he added with pride. The floor vibrated underneath them as the pilot, whoever he was, fired it up.

Jayne took in what he could see of the ship as he climbed the stairs after the captain. She looked like she wouldn't know new if it lived next door for ten years, but at least she seemed well cared for. He'd known captains who'd let a ship rust to pieces rather than take the trouble of cleaning and replacing the parts. Serenity, she was called, apparently. Name rang a bell, but he couldn't recall from where.

The captain paused at the door to the engine room. "Kaylee! Get yourself out here, there's someone you gotta meet."

Jayne peered through the door. There was the main engine, a maze and tangle of rotating parts, all humming gently and all beyond his comprehension. A pair of legs wearing green coveralls and boots were all he could see of the mechanic.

"Hold on just a sec." A hand emerged from under the engine and fumbled in an toolbox open next to her. "Got it." She withdrew a wrench and the arm disappeared again. A few moments later, a pink-cheeked face smudged with engine grease and topped with a messy knot of shiny brown hair emerged from beneath the mechanisms. "Hey, Captain, how'd it go? Didja make a new friend?" She beamed at Jayne. "Where're ya from?"

"He's joined up with us, right enough." The captain informed Kaylee as she grabbed a bemused Jayne's hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Being on the business end of a gun ain't how I usually start a friendship, but new experiences are broadening, or so they tell me."

"Gun?" Kaylee crinkled her forehead. "But ya said..."

The captain jerked a thumb at him. "Jayne here and his people tracked us down. He made the wise decision to hop on over to our side, get himself a raise."

"Damn straight." Jayne looked at her appreciatively. "Nice to meet ya, Miss Kaylee."

Kaylee grinned. "You too. Ever need anythin' fixed, I'm your girl." She turned to the captain. "I've done just 'bout all as can be done on the synchronizers. They'll hold a little longer, but repairin' 'em won't do. Gonna need new ones. I'm gettin' some weirdness off the port compression coil too."

"We'll see what we can do 'bout the synchronizers," the captain told her. "No way we can replace the compression coil for a good long while. Does it still work?"

"Yeah..."

"Then we keep it."

Kaylee sighed and crossed to a colorful hammock hung in one corner of the engine room. "Well, we'll be okay for now. Jayne, ya met Wash yet?"

"I'm just taking him up there now. See you at dinner, little Kaylee." The girl waved cheerily as the captain and Jayne exited the room.

Jayne lowered his voice as they tramped off towards the bridge. "So, ya ever tried her out in the hammock?"

The captain whipped back around to stare at Jayne. "You're new on this boat, so let me make one thing very clear to you. Kaylee ain't to be trifled with. I won't have you playing on her big heart just to get yourself some action. Get sexed all you want when you're on leave, but that's it."

"Don't know if the young lady would appreciate you meddlin' in her affairs."

The captain held Jayne's gaze. "My ship, my rules. I don't care how often you've been told that disobeying orders could end with you out an airlock—on this boat, it's for real. Kaylee ain't a joke to me, nor to anyone else here." He turned around and headed for the bridge. "Wash! Am I gonna see something as should be saved for the bunk?"

"I'm wounded, Mal," came an unfamiliar voice through the door. "We do retain some shred of civilization here." The two men crossed through the door.

Zoe was leaning against the console, beside a scruffy-looking blond-haired man, intensely focused on the piloting mechanisms. Set within reach were several plastic dinosaurs, as might have been picked up in a toy shop on any border planet. Jayne turned to Mal. "Ya got kids on this boat?"

"No. They're Wash's." Mal gestured at the blond man.

"Gets lonely on the bridge sometimes. That is, when one of our crew members hasn't decided to grace me with their company." Wash spun his chair around and caught sight of Jayne. "Zoe, love of my life, flower of my heart, who is the large and extremely suspicious-looking, and by that I mean extremely good-looking, new recruit?"

"Name's Jayne," Zoe replied briefly.

"As in Jane Austen?" Wash asked brightly. "Was your mother a fan?"

"What are you sayin' about my momma?"

Mal cut in. "Jayne, ain't nobody talking bad about your momma. Wash, who the hell is Jane Austen?"

"I'm just tellin' ya, little man—"

Wash winked. "I'm sure your mother is a fine woman. Besides...my wife can kill you with her big toe. Right, _baobei?"_ He leaned over and pulled Zoe into his lap.

"Oh, I don't know, husband. It might take my whole foot."

Jayne folded his arms. "So they get some in the black and I don't?"

"You have working hands, don't you?" Mal disappeared back through the door. "C'mon, I'll show you the kitchen and your bunk." Jayne shook his head and followed.

**In the black, June of the year 2516**

A month or so with Serenity's crew, Jayne still had no reason to regret his decision, but he was gorram well maintaining his position that people weren't near as reliable as guns, even those as were tolerable 'cause they paid him or knew some good whore's tricks. Take Mal for an example—of the paying category, that is. (In Jayne's humble opinion, Mal's knowing good whore's tricks would be a gorram waste anyway, when it was clear as shiny Core glass the man hadn't gotten sexed in _years,_ at least.) Sure, Mal delivered when it came to coin, but his mind had all kinds of weird twists and turns. Right now he was in a bear of a mood, due to having gotten himself shot by some old bird named Patience while they were planetside on Whitefall, and there weren't any definite way to make him cut it out.

"Can't ya help me get him laid?" Jayne demanded of Zoe as he dried the dinner dishes. He'd have tried to skive off if it had been anyone but the first mate, and he suspected that was why Kaylee had stuck them together on cleanup duty. "We hand over the goods from this job, there'll be coin to hire—"

Zoe pushed a just-rinsed plate into his hands. "Ain't going to happen, and if you try and push it, Captain will be even more bent out of shape, so leave it alone. Job stress gets to us all. Things will blow over soon."

"Yeah, well, he ain't got no call to take it out on us," Jayne grumbled. "Ain't like we've got naught to worry about our own selves. Ella needs a new firin' pin, and Masha could use some spare cartridges."

"Jayne, why ya always name your guns?" Kaylee was leaning in the doorway, face liberally smudged with grease—as Jayne had learned was usually the case with her. "I think it's real nice, but why ya do it?"

"Picked up the habit from an old sharpshooter back home." Jayne shrugged. "He said ya can't neglect somethin' you named, all personal-like. And if ya neglect your guns, you're liable to end up a lead-filled carcass."

"Same as if I didn't pay no mind to Serenity," Kaylee agreed.

Jayne grinned. "I heard how ya done come onboard this ship for the first time. Ya favor machines like that, ya might be able to figure how I feel about a good gun when—"

"Don't be finishing that sentence," Zoe advised, handing him the pot they'd used to cook today's version of protein glop. "I ain't wishful to hear. Key word in the phrase private lives is private."

Kaylee giggled. "'Cept when I got the spiel 'bout Wash havin' _real_ steady hands, pilot and all. 'Course, I did ask."

"How'd this conversation get back to sex?" Zoe shook her head. "Right, Jayne's in the room."

"Just talkin' 'bout how we can get Mal to unwind a mite." Jayne stuck the pot in the cupboard. It weren't wiped all the way, but the thing could dry on the shelf. "Ya say no whorehouse, Zoe, are you volunteerin' to sex him up?"

"Marriage vows, you may have heard of 'em."

"Pretty words is still words. Ain't like Wash is holdin' a gun to your head."

Zoe raised an eyebrow as she passed him a bundle of wet chopsticks. "There's something to be said for keeping a promise, Jayne."

"Yeah." Kaylee sat in a kitchen chair, propping her feet on one of the rungs. "I mean, we're all crew. We ain't ought to go behind each other's backs."

"Sure, we're crew. Can't function 'less we're reliable, but no point in gettin' all mushy over it." Jayne dried the chopsticks. "It's coin as keeps us together, in the end, I reckon."

"Hmm." Zoe pulled the plug in the sink, letting the soapy water swirl down the drain. "Ain't much of a wonder you don't understand why the captain's been growling at us, then."

"Don't give much of a damn about the why, just so long as it don't go on too much longer." Jayne hung the dishcloth on the hook. "Things go any further downhill than they've been goin' lately, somethin's gonna snap on this boat afore long."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene where Jayne decides to join the crew, as many fans will recognize, matches the flashback in Out of Gas. It was never quite clear to me how Jayne would have managed to retrieve any of his belongings from his old ship, after turning on his old crew, but hey, canon happens.


	4. Honest Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earlier version beta'd by KrisEleven. Many thanks!
> 
> Translations: Are below.  
> Ben tian-sheng de yil-dui-rou—Stupid inbred stack of meat  
> Go-se—Crap  
> Ni ta ma de. Tianxia suoyoude ren. Dou gaisi—Everyone under the heavens ought to go die  
> Jian huo—Cheap floozy  
> Kuang-zhe de—Nuts (as in crazy)  
> Dong ma?—Understand?  
> Meimei—Little sister

**The planet Osiris, July in the year 2516**

Simon, as a doctor, was well aware that the body's self-defense mechanisms would prevent him from deliberately knocking himself out with a blow to the head. However, he felt only that would be a proper punishment.

 _Waiting outside a compound in a blackout zone, no doubt surrounded by smugglers, thieves, and murderers, you just_ had _to bring three hundred credits with you? And leave them in your outer pocket? With your ident card? Oh, and wear clothing that costs more than most of these people probably make in a year? Why not just paint 'rob me' on your back?  
_

Or maybe the thief had picked something up from what he’d said to the guards at the gate.

 _"Oh. You're guards. And you're doing a great job. Keeping me out. Not that I'm_ _—not that as guards, you need to keep me out. I'm harmless. But still. You're guards. You have a very guard-like air to you."_

Simon groaned at the memory. It was ridiculous, considering that River's life was possibly at stake, for him to have, of all things, stage fright. He'd planned out carefully what to say to his contact, a woman by the name of Nastasia Ortega, but he hadn't counted on the guards outside. He was surprised one of them hadn't knocked him on the head and left him in some alley.

The guard on the right beckoned to him. "Hey, you. Harmless one. She'll see you now."

Simon rose and followed the guard through the inner door, and blinked. The entire room was filled with paper and cloth screens—some the cheap variety to be obtained at any open-air market, and others he distinctly recognized as being imported from Sihnon and Ariel. The owner of the room was nowhere to be seen.

"Scrim," the guard explained, jabbing a thumb at the largest screen, which blocked off a substantial section of the room. "Boss can see you, but you can't see her. Bad for business."

"Right." Simon turned awkwardly to the screen. "Mistress Ortega. I am here to make an offer—"

"Congratulations, Alexei," a cultured voice drawled from behind the elaborately woven cloth. "You were right. You, doctor, you have coin with you?"

"Yes. I mean, no! That is—hey, get off!" The guard had pinned his arms.

"Alright, Alexei, take the money off him and shoot him."

"Can't I shoot him first?"

Simon jerked his head back, smashing into the guard's nose. He made no sound, but his grip loosened and Simon jerked away, ducking behind one of the heavier screens.

_This is going to buy me about five seconds. When they move the screen...River, I'm sorry..._

There was a hollow wooden thud, and another set of footsteps ran into the room. "Mistress, we've located Elmer Brandon, who cheated you out of that shipment from Harvest last month. He's tied up in the anteroom."

"That _ben tian-sheng de yil-dui-rou!_ " Ortega spat. "He's not slipping away from me again, the little toad. Alexei, come with me. Rachel, go and—"

"What about the—"

Upon reflection, it might have been a good idea for Simon to open the window before jumping out of it. As it was, the several shots that followed him did not find their mark, but being stuck full of shattered bits of glass hardly improved the situation.

Several hours later, in Ahuva's house, the other doctor extracted the last shard of glass and glared at Simon. "I suppose it's too much to hope that almost getting killed taught you a lesson?"

Simon shook his head. "If it gets me to River…just because that went wrong doesn't mean they all will."

"All?" Ahuva propped her hands on her hips. "You have more of these—contacts—lined up?"

"Three more at the moment."

"Tell me you're at least bringing some kind of weapon to the meetings."

"They all search me before they let me in to see whoever's in charge," Simon informed her. "I couldn't carry anything even if I knew how to use it, which, as you know full well, I don't."

Ahuva unlocked and opened a nearby drawer, holding up a tube of lipstick. "I'll bet a hundred in platinum you know how to use this."

As it happened, Simon did. Anyone who'd worked the night shift at the ER knew about the Goodnight Kiss.

**The planet Osiris, September in the year 2516**

Guns, Simon had decided, were a problem. He was vaguely familiar with sonic rifles, as all Feds carried them, but those were not lethal, whereas he would bet every credit he was carrying (in his inside pocket this time, thank you) that the weapons that abounded in this bar were all kinds of deadly. And though Simon didn't know much about guns themselves, he knew a great deal about gunshot wounds and exactly how fast he would bleed to death if he were shot in any of several places, which was not exactly conducive to relaxation.

A man leaned on the counter beside Simon. "Anyone want to show me whether the service in this bar is worth a damn?" His eyes on the bartender, he slid a card across the splinter-rife counter to Simon, who covered it with his hand. When the man had accepted his drink and moved away, Simon picked up the card, doing his best to be casual. On it were written directions to one of the private rooms. Much as the idea of conducting business without any kind of protection went against all Simon's common sense, he knew he didn't have much choice, not if he wanted to get River back. His months of searching had convinced him there was no safe way—much less any legal way—to do that.

Five minutes later, Simon was ensconced in a shadowy room with three men at least twice his size. One of them winked at him. "Going to compete in the Miss Osiris pageant later?"

"Shut up, Tai," the smallest of the men ordered. "Or do you want another of the _go-se_ jobs we've been picking up in the last few weeks?" Tai subsided sullenly and the smaller man turned back to Simon. "Doctor. I'm Jason Andrews. I understand you're looking for information about your sister."

"Yes. Yes, I am." Simon gripped the sides of his chair.

"So you'll be telling me under what circumstances she disappeared."

"She...my family..." Simon mentally ordered himself to get to the point. "She was offered a chance to go to an Alliance Academy. We...didn't know much about it, but she wanted to go. So we sent her there...." He cleared his throat. "And I've been getting coded letters, letters that ask for help, and I—"

"Hold it right there. You've never laid eyes on this Academy?"

"No. We—"

"Never heard of it before then?"

"No..."

"How long ago was this?"

"A little more than a year ago." Simon reached into his pocket. "I brought the letters, and all the information I could find on the Academy. I can show you—"

Andrews held up a hand. "No."

"No, what?"

"I don't want your information. What I want is for you to walk out of here right now and pretend you never heard of us. And if you know what's good for you, you'll forget you ever had a sister."

Simon stared. "But why?"

Andrews leaned forward. "I'll tell you why. I was on the right side of the law when it came to investigating, once. Then, one day, some couple comes to me because their son has gone and disappeared into an Alliance Academy just like the one you're describing."

"Then you know—" Simon began excitedly.

"What I know is that I made some simple inquiries and got dragged in for questioning by the Feds. I was stupid enough to not take their warnings seriously. So I dig a little deeper, and suddenly there's a warrant on the Cortex for my arrest and all my funds are frozen."

"But you don't even know how much I'm willing to pay—"

Andrews stood and waved at his men. "Come on, boys. We've got a _go-se_ job to take."

**The planet Osiris, November in the year 2516**

"Son of a...." Simon's most recent contact dropped to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

It was one of those days when Simon wondered if his so-called proper upbringing had been infused with any sense of reality whatsoever. Having come to the conclusion that he was going to be spending a certain amount of time in disreputable company, he'd purchased an outfit that would have made him an exile had he worn it to any society dinner function—and the man to whom he'd talked on the wave had _still_ labeled him a target for seduction and probably robbery. Simon shuddered at the idea of what would have happened if he hadn't taken Ahuva's advice and used the Goodnight Kiss—and if one of the guards hadn’t been the mother of a former patient.

The door creaked open and the copper-haired woman poked her head inside. "Everything going well in here? The doorman went to get a drink. I thought I'd check in on you two. Make sure he wasn't grabbing what he shouldn't."

"It's fine, Deborah." Simon dropped to his knees beside his unconscious contact and pulled out the viewer in his pocket. "Thank you again for warning me this might be a scam."

Deborah leaned against the table. "Hey. Reattaching my daughter’s leg is worth more than a warning or two. The hamster she named after you is thriving, by the way. So, did he offer to bed you in exchange for some supposed info, like he did with the last five who came in here?"

Simon examined the viewer. "Yes. He said he had detailed information, but this has a wiped drive."

"To be expected. You'd better go."

"I hope this won't cost you your job." Simon walked to the door.

"I'll pretend you hit me on the head when I opened the door, or some such."

Dr. Mahdavi was waiting outside. Since his previous disaster—a nasty scene involving a triggered stun grenade—he'd asked her to accompany him whenever his meetings with contacts were in blackout zones. Simon could only pray the Alliance had lost interest in monitoring his movements, because if they were to look at the surveillance now, he'd be lucky to get off without being arrested.

"No luck?" Mahdavi joined him as they hurried down the crowded street.

"None."

"I had some." Mahdavi pulled an envelope out of her pocket. "Geming got in touch with me."

Simon frowned. "Who's Geming?"

"He's from TALENT, the organization that broke me out." Mahdavi handed him the envelope. "Their wave code's in here. I think he and his partner will be able to help you, if you can pay, and if you're willing to wait. They have to keep moving to evade the Alliance, so there's no real way of knowing when they'll be able to meet with you."

"Do you trust them?"

"As much as I do anyone. You'd better get home."

Simon watched Mahdavi turn down a side street, then looked at the envelope in his hand. _It’s been over eighteen months since I got River's last letter, and I'm no farther along now than I was then. It’s only luck that I haven’t been arrested by now; I have no idea what I’m doing. If even petty criminals scare me so much I can’t see straight, what hope do I have against anything worse?_

**The planet Osiris, February in the year 2517**

In a few months, Simon realized as he sat in yet another blackout-zone bar, it would be two years since he'd received River's first coded letter. He could barely remember a time before most of life had become a process of going through the motions, all his resources completely focused on the slippery task of rescuing his sister. In the daytime, he took his patients one at a time, unable to see beyond his next meeting with a contact. In the nighttime, he dreamed of his sister, dreams that changed in an instant from River dancing to River screaming.

"Watch where you're going!"

"Well, that'll wrap it up. Looks like maybe we can do business."

"...see if you get a better deal from anyone else..."

Simon knew his family and friends were worried about his mental health. To be frank, they had reason to be, but Simon was willing to hang on to sanity by a thread if it meant he could help the sister he loved. But terror for River was only part of the problem. Simon, like all those around him, had built his entire life around the assumption that the government was basically good, or at least could be relied upon to preserve his safety and the safety of his family. But that belief had begun to erode months ago, and the doubts had gotten even worse when he met contact after contact who took it for granted that the Alliance would imprison or kill them if given the smallest excuse. They might be criminals, but Simon had come to see them as people trying to survive in a world far harsher than his.

"You _jian huo!_ Stay away from my man!"

"Pass that bottle down, will you?"

"Dr. Tam?"

Simon looked up to see a heavyset, black-haired man, his face rife with raw pink scars, standing beside his stool. He wore no obvious weapons, but Simon knew that didn't mean he had none. "Yes. That's me." He'd not seen this man before, but he fit the description given him by Dr. Mahdavi in their most recent wave.

"Got a private room to talk in," the scarred man said in a harsh drawl. "Friend's in there now, checkin' for any eavesdroppin' devices as would be a problem."

Simon stood. "I appreciate your coming to meet me. Thank you."

"Time for thanks if ya get what ya want," the scarred man advised, turning towards the door. "Follow me."

They made their way through the crowd, ducking around prostitutes and those serving drinks, passing a corner full of gamblers on their way to the door. The scarred man slapped away a thief trying to get a hand in his pocket, and ducked into the hall. Simon followed quickly.

The dark corridor led to a series of entry ways, some separated from the hall by nothing but old curtains. Simon was grateful when the scarred man led him to a solid wooden door and pushed it open.

In one corner of the room stood another man, thinner and taller than the first. He appeared younger than the scarred man, perhaps in his late thirties, despite his prematurely grey hair. "We're all clear," he announced, his accent crisp and formal. "This is the doctor, I suppose."

"So he says," grunted the scarred man. "'Least, his story checks out."

"Good." The taller man waved at the wobbling table and chairs that graced the room. "Let us sit. And do tell Dr. Tam your pseudonym, so he can stop thinking of you as 'the scarred man.'"

Simon blinked while the scarred man glared at his companion. "Go cheat on your wife, Sumner."

"My wife can beat up your honor student," Sumner told him. He turned to Simon. "As you heard, I am called Sumner."

"My colleague's too educated for his own good," the scarred man grumbled. "I'm Geming."

Simon nodded. "I'm pleased to meet you. Dr. Mahdavi has said good things about you."

"Ain't hardly described us accurately then. All criminals here."

"That's right," Sumner agreed serenely. "You're a traitor, I'm a traitor, that's the way it is. But you want to know about your sister."

"Yes. River." Simon dug his nails into the heels of his hands.

"Got no good news for you on that account," Geming informed him. "Alliance has their claws into her now. Hardly likely to ever let her go."

Simon swallowed. "Then she really is in danger at the Academy."

"I'll say. Ain't no kid in that place ever come out the way they went in. Supposed to be geniuses, but they're _kuang-zhe_ _de_ when they leave. If they leave at all."

Simon stared. _"_ _Kuang-zhe de?_ But why?"

"Because the Alliance considers your sister government property," Sumner said. "They want to mold her body and mind to suit their needs."

Simon's stomach roiled. "Mold...how?"

"With propaganda, with mind-altering chemicals. Possibly even with surgery; we cannot be sure. To state it bluntly, they are playing with her brain."

Chest and throat burning, Simon stared at Sumner. "But River isn’t—she’s not a toy! She’s—" Gifted? A prodigy? Precious and rare? So his parents had said, and taught their children that intelligence and status conferred privilege. _Is this what life is truly like?_ Simon wondered bitterly. _Must people trade their daughters for the privilege of keeping a record free of black marks?_

"To them she’s a toy," Geming said harshly. "Actually, to them she’s a tool. Don’t know for what purpose, though."

Simon found his voice. "What do I have to do?"

"What do you mean?" Sumner asked warily.

"To get her out. There must be a way. No facility is impenetrable."

"Ya got no idea what you’re askin'," Geming broke in. "No idea. The risk involved—"

"I have money. I’ll pay whatever it takes. My parents will help."

"Will they?" Sumner raised an eyebrow. "Hardly anyone would willingly get involved with such a scheme."

"Once I explain, they’ll understand." Simon twisted his hands in the fabric of his pants, hoping beyond hope that what he said was true.

"And once she’s out, just where’re ya goin' to take her?" Geming inquired. "Trust me, there’s no place you can run where they ain't gonna come lookin' for ya. You’d have to hit the border planets, and odds are someone like yourself wouldn’t last a day even there."

"I’ll take that chance."

Sumner looked at him seriously. "You could lose everything, Dr. Tam. You've never been off the Core, I'm guessing?" Simon shook his head. "You would have to live like an outlaw. Have you ever visited an Alliance prison? A real one, not the pleasant front they show trustees and tourists." Sumner didn't wait for an answer. "That’s if you survive, _dong ma?_ If some bounty hunter doesn’t put a bullet through your brain to get to your sister. It only takes one time, one mistake."

"But it could be done."

Geming and Sumner traded looks. "Ain't rightly sure," the former finally replied. "We've not got the fundin', and ya gotta have an insider for this kinda thing, and we—"

"May have one, actually," Sumner said thoughtfully.

"What? Not Swallowtail? I thought we couldn't be sure of her."

"Well, it is a risk, but without her, we can do nothing."

Geming shook his head. "Ain't worth it."

Simon cleared his throat. "It is to me. Is there anything I could do to persuade you to put me in touch with this Swallowtail?"

"You and Swallowtail could not do it alone, Dr. Tam," Sumner said, not unkindly.

Geming observed Simon shrewdly. "Bet that wouldn't stop ya, though, would it? Try and do it on your lonesome if we don't help ya."

Simon raised his chin. "Yes, I would."

"You know," Sumner mused, "if we did manage this, we would have the evidence to prevent others from entering the Academy, to some extent at least. And it would build confidence in our ranks. That's been sorely lacking lately."

"Your ranks?" Simon inquired.

"None of your business," Geming growled repressively. "Unless we agree, which we ain't likely to."

Sumner frowned at Simon. "She may not even be your sister, truly. Who can guess what kind of damage they’ve done to her mind? She might not know you anymore. She might be in a completely vegetative state. Why do you risk so much?"

 _Gifted. A prodigy. Rare and precious._ His parent’s words, not his. "Because she’s my _meimei."_

The two men were silent for a moment. Then Geming heaved himself to his feet. "Well, we'll talk about it. Get back to ya with our decision."

"Thank you."

"There is not much to thank us for, yet," Sumner replied.

"You told me the truth." Simon paused by the door. "It's more than anyone else has done." He left the room.

He had just entered the main area when he saw a man being knocked to the floor by a sonic rifle. People were pouring for the exits, pushing and shoving and screaming. Someone rammed into Simon and he tripped over a bar stool, crashing to the ground. By the time he scrambled to his feet, he and those nearest to him were surrounded by Feds. The one nearest to him spoke as he removed handcuffs from his belt.

"You are bound by law for the crime of presence in a blackout zone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun with the pseudonyms in this chapter. Geming means 'revolution,' and Sumner was the name of an anti-slavery senator during the Civil War.


	5. Risky Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early version beta'd by KrisEleven. Many thanks!
> 
> Translations: Are below.  
> Wo de ma—Mother of God  
> Fei hua—Rubbish  
> Ta ma de—Damn it  
> Zhe zhen shi ge kuaile de jinzhan—This is a happy development  
> Qing jin—Come in

**The planet Aberdeen, February of the year 2517**

"I don't hardly believe it," Kaylee whispered. "Captain, ya see?"

 _"Wo de ma."_ Jayne's voice held the appreciation of an expert.

"Husband, I don't like that look in your eyes," Zoe told Wash. "I ain't wanting to start any fights tonight, that clear?"

"You wound me." Wash placed a hand over his heart. "I am a big, strong, into-the-whole-marriage-and-commitment-thing man."

Kaylee looked up at her captain with huge eyes, knowing he could never resist that look unless there were several lives at stake. "Captain, please? It's _real chocolate._ "

"Your cut, your game, little Kaylee. If Jayne tries to steal any, whack him with your wire cutters. We're on a job here, and I need him to stand behind me looking intimidating."

"I, ah, think I better go along," Wash said hastily. "That mousse could, you know, be poisoned. I should taste it before Kaylee. Ladies need protecting."

"You surely didn't learn that from me," Zoe said dryly. "Captain, our contact should be here soon."

"Well, it might just be me, but I feel like our looking-intimidating might be a tad compromised by a pilot and mechanic all covered in chocolate. So you two just stand over there and we'll pretend we don't know you."

"I'll take that in the spirit in which it was intended," Wash said cheerfully.

Kaylee didn't stay around to hear the rest of the conversation. She couldn't think of nothing else when that fancy chocolaty swirl thing was in the room, so she reckoned it was for everyone's good if she got a bit of it as soon as possible.

Perched on a stool, running her tongue along the rim of her spoon, Kaylee glanced brightly around the room while she waited for the nice man to serve up her bowl of mousse. There weren't no one here yet looked nearly disreputable enough to be their contact, and she hoped he or she hadn't decided to skip out on them. It'd make the captain and Zoe and Jayne no end of grumpy; the captain and Zoe 'cause they'd have to take that job from Badger and Badger worried them worse'n flies in pudding, and Jayne 'cause he wouldn't get paid near as fast.

'Sides, no job meant the captain wouldn't hear of buying that real shiny compression coil she'd spotted on the way here. Her girl Serenity had been talking to her, saying it was needed bad. 'Course, they hadn't had cash to spare for weeks, not since the repairs needed after Jayne tried out that new-fangled grenade thing he'd picked up cheap on Beaumonde. It'd driven the raiders who'd followed 'em away, but had also made a dent in the primary buffer panel as had taken two weeks to fix.

"Here you are, miss." The man managing the counter winked at her. "Enjoy. You too, sir," he added, putting down bowls in front of her and Wash.

"'Sir.'" Wash stared reflectively at the man's back as Kaylee dug in with a relish. "Interesting. Hey, would you consider having a word with my wife?" Kaylee smacked him.

"Don't ya want to sleep in your bed tonight? As opposed to elsewhere?"

"Again with the wounding. I just don't want to be mistaken for Mal again. My sense of fashion is so much better than his."  

Kaylee closed her eyes blissfully at the rich taste of the mousse. Some sex she'd had ain't even come near to being as good as this. She might've come off a border world, not like no fancy Core lady, but Kaylee knew true chocolate when she tasted it. There was no mistaking it for the cheap protein cocoa mix you could pick up at any market.

Thoughts of Core ladies reminded Kaylee of her newest girlfriend. Only girlfriend, actually—Zoe was real nice, but she sure weren't hair-brushing-and-gossip material. "What do ya reckon 'Nara's doin' right now, Wash?"

"Um, let's think. What does she do for a living?"

Kaylee rolled her eyes. "She ain't havin' sex _now,_ silly. Her client was gonna take her to that fancy dance thing. Do ya think they'll have chocolate there?"

"It's hardly a fancy party if there's no chocolate." Wash grinned. "Not that fancy parties are necessarily the best. I remember when Zoe and I..."

Kaylee let him talk while she mentally added up the credits she'd brought with here. _I've got enough to get 'Nara some chocolate too, just in case._ She waved the bartender down. "Can ya wrap up another bowl of this for my friend?"

"Of course. Won't be but a minute."

The door swung open, letting in a small crowd of people. Leading the way was a creamy-skinned, black-haired woman, with what Kaylee was pretty sure was that same new-fangled grenade thing strapped to her belt. Behind her was a skinny, cat-like man, eyes narrowed in the dim light of the bar, and a shorter, stocky man who seemed inclined to twitch. It was late afternoon and most hadn't gotten off from work yet, so Kaylee reckoned these had to be their contacts. Turned out she was right as the woman strode up to the captain and Zoe and Jayne. Bar was empty enough so she could hear their words, 'spite of them being across the room.

"Malcolm Reynolds?" The woman's eyes skimmed over Jayne before she held out a hand to the captain. He nodded in confirmation and shook it. "I'm Captain Vashandra Devi. This is Benson." She indicated the shorter, twitchy one. "That's Goldstein." She jerked her head at the cat-like man.

"Good to meet you. My first mate, Zoe, and Jayne." The captain gestured for the man behind the counter. He passed Kaylee her covered bowl of mousse and went to serve them drinks.

"So I'm given to understand the ship you own is a Firefly," Vashandra Devi stated. "An 03 model?"

"That'd be right."

One of Devi's men, Kaylee thought Benson, snorted a little. Devi whipped her head around to glare at him, and he shrank away. "Sorry, boss. But a Firefly? They're held together by spit and prayers!" Kaylee sat up indignantly, ready to defend her girl if he kept on with that _fei hua._

Devi shook her head. "You're thinking of the 01 model. Use your brain for something besides taking up the space between your ears." She turned back to the captain. "Good for flying under the radar, those ships. Could be you'll find that useful, if we decide to do business."

"So from what I understand, you want your cargo transported to Beylix," the captain said. "Care to enlighten us on just what kind of cargo it is?"

"Salvage." Devi accepted her drink from the bartender. "Engine parts, this time around." Kaylee's eyes widened, chocolate temporarily forgotten. "Big Core companies, they never miss a shipment or two."

"No, I reckon they don't." The captain eyed Devi over his mug. "Here's the thing, though. The payment you offered us on the wave was a mite high. Not complaining, mind, but I can't help thinking maybe you want more than just getting the goods from here to there."

"You'd be correct. Usually, when we liberate a shipment, there's a little fuss on the Cortex, nothing more. But someone's kicking up their heels about this one. No one from the company, mind, people like us. I've had three crews try to break into my warehouse since it came." Devi set her drink down. "My specialty is transport, not the parts themselves. I want your mechanic to have a look at them, see if there's something special about this bunch that we've missed. Hence the higher price. Well, that, and you might run into some trouble on the road."

"Seems fair to me." The captain got to his feet. "Kaylee!" He turned back to Devi. "You want to take us there now?"

**OoOoO**

Kaylee trotted towards the salvage warehouse, surrounded by Zoe and Jayne and the captain. With her and 'Nara's chocolate safely in the hands of Wash, who'd gone back to Serenity, she was ready to give her full attention to them engine parts.

Benson held the door for them. Devi led the way through a sea of bundles, crates, boxes, and ceiling-high shelves, moving more quick than Kaylee'd have thought anyone could in such a mess. She and her fellow crew members picked their way among the salvage as Devi dragged three crates out from under a lopsided table. "These are the ones that seem to be causing the trouble, Miss—Kaylee, isn't it?" She set to work undoing the locks.

"Uh-huh." Kaylee knelt by the nearest unlocked crate and pried the top off, her eyes lighting up at the parts stacked inside. She picked up the nearest one and examined it. "Oooh, this is from a Capissen-45! I like the 45s. They sure fixed the brand up since they released the 38." She peered in. "Yeah, this whole box is meant for the same ship, I'm bettin.'"

"Just need to know if there's anything wrong with 'em," the captain advised.

Kaylee looked up. "Might take a while for me to go through all these."

Devi began hunting through a nearby cupboard. "Goldstein, I know you hid that moonshine from the last job in here. Seeing as you borrowed the coin to buy it from me, I know you won't mind sharing."

 _"_ _Ta ma de,"_ Goldstein muttered, not sounding too upset regardless.

The two crews divided the moonshine between them while Kaylee worked on the engines. Jayne pried open one bottle with the handle of his knife, and Benson lounged with his feet on a crate. Goldstein and Devi watched Serenity's crew over their cups like foxes with a dog in their territory, and the captain did the same between gulps. Zoe drank little, other hand resting easily near her gun.

The Capissen-45 bits just 'bout filled up the first crate, enough to keep some ship running for a long while. There was a section of a life-support system and wiring for a grav thrust in the second crate. Kaylee hummed her approval as she saw that whoever'd packed the box had wrapped the parts up with care. She had no time for anyone careless with machines.

The third crate was lighter than the others, and filled to the top with replacement drive feeds. Kaylee made sure to examine each one, knowing any could contain what they were looking for. At the bottom of the crate were broken sections of a com system. She checked those too.

"So what's the verdict, Miss Kaylee?" Devi inquired. "Anything we should know about?"

Kaylee shook her head. "There's nothin' wrong with these. All just average engine parts."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure as can be."

Zoe glanced over the crates. "Could be those crews think you've got something you don't."

"Or maybe," The captain said quietly, "there ain't nothing wrong with those parts and you know it. Maybe you spun this story to get us here."

Devi raised her eyebrows. "So I have a deadly grudge against people I've never seen before, is that it?"

"Could be someone paid ya to have us ambushed," Jayne growled.

Hands on hips, Devi glared at Jayne. "If I was going to have you ambushed, I'd come up with a better plan than—" Suddenly her gun was out, and a shot cracked the air.

Kaylee screamed, looking wildly from the captain to Zoe to Jayne, expecting to see one of 'em bleeding, but they were all still standing, and staring at the strange man who'd been sneaking up behind them, and was now writhing on the floor with Devi's bullet in his gut.

The silence lasted half a second, then all Kaylee's crew, plus Benson and Goldstein, had their guns out. Zoe pushed Kaylee under the lopsided table as a woman barreled in through the door, and two more men scrambled through the windows, all with guns firing.

Bullets flew in both directions as Kaylee stared out from under the table, unable to look away. Though the shelves made it more difficult to see, they also gave some cover. The invaders seemed to have realized too late they had two crews to deal with instead of one, and were trying to retreat. The woman and one of the men crashed out the door, the other went down with a shot to his head.

Jayne ran to the door and looked out. "No point in chasin' 'em, Mal. It's dark out there, and there's other buildin's all over they could hide in."

The captain hadn't put away his gun yet. "Weren't we talking about ambushes?"

"Yes, because I'd shoot my own man if that were the case," Devi said dryly, prodding the body with one booted foot.

"Oh, _zhe zhen shi ge kuaile de jinzhan..."_ Goldstein was examining a graze on his shoulder. "Boss, how do we know they ain't arranged this ambush themselves?"

"Because we wouldn't have had time," Zoe told him. "We landed right before we came to meet you."

"And you were the ones that suggested we come to the warehouse _tonight_ ," Devi said patiently. "So obviously neither of us did this and it's another set of people trying to steal the goods. Well, I'm not going to keep them here any longer if I can help it." She turned to the captain. "You going to transport these goods to Beylix, or do I have to find another ship?"

 _Captain's sure to take it,_ Kaylee thought. _This job might still be weak tea, but what Badger's offerin' ain't any better—and they don't trust Badger._

The captain considered for a minute, glancing from his crew to the crates to Devi. "No need to find someone else. We'll take 'em."

Devi shook hands with him. "Shiny."

**In the black, February of the year 2517**

_"_ _Qing jin,"_ came Inara's voice from inside the shuttle. Kaylee entered to see her putting away the last of her calligraphy materials. She smiled warmly. "What a lovely surprise visit. I wanted to thank you for the chocolate, and I was just considering making tea. Would you like some?"

"Sure!" Kaylee flopped across one of the silk couches. "Thanks."

"Of course. I was going to invite you in regardless." Inara crossed to a carved chest of draws. "There's something I'd like to show you. A gift from a client."

"Really?" Kaylee perked up. "What?"

Inara pulled out a leather-bound book. "Samir—my client—is an antiques connoisseur. He brought me this collection of Earth-That-Was folktales. Valuable financially, of course, but I confess I'm rather more interested in the stories."

"Ooh, I've always loved fairy tales!" Kaylee took the book Inara was holding out to her and opened it to the table of contents. "It has the story of Ye Xian. My momma used to tell that to me and my sisters and brothers."

"Why don't you read it aloud while I make the tea?" Inara suggested. "I'd be happy to hear it again."

Kaylee found the right page and began reading. She told how Ye Xian's father and mother had died, leaving her all alone with her stepmother, who made her do all the most nasty work. She read how Ye Xian's only friend was a beautiful fish with big gold eyes, which she fed every day, but which her stepmother killed with a dagger. She told how a spirit had come to Ye Xian, telling her the bones of the fish had great power, and when she was in need, she should ask 'em for help. She read how, when the spring festival arrived, Ye Xian longed to go, but couldn't, 'cause she only had old, tattered clothes to wear.

"So Ye Xian went to the bones and said to 'em, please give me clothes so I can go to the festival. And all of a sudden, she was wearin' a gown that was all azure blue, and a cloak covered in the feathers of a kingfisher." Kaylee paused. "What's a kingfisher? My momma always said the cloak had peacock feathers."

"A kingfisher is another kind of bird, I think." Inara poured tea into their cups. "From Earth-That-Was, I suppose."

"And the bones gave her a pair of slippers as well," Kaylee read on. "They were woven of silver threads in a pattern like scaled fish and the soles were made of solid gold. But the bones warned her not to lose 'em."

The two of 'em drank tea as Kaylee finished reading the story—telling how Ye Xian had lost one of her shoes at the festival, which had been found by a merchant who brought it to a king. How the king had longed to find the girl the shoe fit, and tried it on lots of women, until finally he found Ye Xian. How she slipped the shoe right on her foot and he married her and they lived happily ever after.

"Would you like me to braid your hair?" Inara patted the seat in front of the mirror.

Kaylee giggled, sitting herself down. "That'd be shiny. Thanks, 'Nara."

Inara chuckled and began working at the ends of Kaylee's hair. Kaylee watched her in the mirror with a grin, admiring the graceful tilt of her wrists. She reckoned Inara could be shoveling compost in the hot sun and still manage to look elegant and cool. Almost made her jealous, but not quite, not really. 'Cause if truth was told, she wouldn't wish herself anything but what she was, and she for certain didn't want Inara to change a jot.

"So what will you do, once we arrive on Beylix?" Inara inquired. "Will you have the chance to look for the parts you needed to help with the—flare dispenser, wasn't it?"

"Yep, it's the flare dispenser. And yeah, I'm hopin' I'll get to look for them parts. We just make a few adjustments there, the system won't need to work so hard to recycle the exhaust when we break atmo. If we're not puttin' so much strain on it, we won't need to make near as many repairs after we go through a good hard burn." Kaylee paused. "Sorry, guess that must sound kinda dull to ya."

"No, not at all. Why shouldn't I be interested in how Serenity runs? I live on her and love her." Inara set down her brush and reached in a drawer for some pins. "Even if I'm not a mechanical genius like our Miss Kaylee Frye."

"Thanks." Kaylee beamed. "Can you do that fancy braid you were wearin' the other day?"

"Indeed." Inara picked up a comb and began parting Kaylee's hair. Oddly, a frown twisted her face.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing important." Inara gathered strands of Kaylee's hair and began weaving them into the braid. "I'd forgotten, though..."

"Forgotten what?" Kaylee prompted.

"That I don't really like Ye Xian's tale."

"What? Why not? I think it's sweet."

Inara sighed. "Before I left House Madrassa, I spent some time teaching apprentice Companions. So many of them saw themselves as like Ye Xian. The poor girl who becomes the beautiful princess. They don't think about the fact that their whole livelihood is going to depend on their being able to appear as the perfect consort to their clients. If they understand that at the outset, it's alright, but many don't."

"What's wrong with leavin' behind life as a poor girl?" Kaylee wanted to know. "Seemed like Ye Xian was pretty miserable afore she got married, bein' made to work all the time by her stepmother."

"The king didn't marry the poor girl, though. He married the beautiful woman in the cloak of kingfisher feathers. She'll spend the rest of her life pretending to be someone she's not."

"But she weren't wearin' her cloak when he tried the shoe on her foot," Kaylee pointed out. "Mayhap he saw somethin' in her, even when she was all dressed in tattered clothes."

Inara smiled, putting a clip at the end of Kaylee's braid. "I love how you can always find the good in everything."


	6. Thirty Million Pearls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The italicized quotes in the latter part of this chapter are taken from the words spoken on the Miranda recording. 
> 
> Liann Juin, according to online sources, is a central planet. I thought it would make sense to have the Academy at least near the Core, and I can't find anything more specific about the location.
> 
> There are four Shakespeare quotes/references in this chapter. You may recognize some of them, keep your eyes open.

**A moon off the planet Liann Juin, February of the year 2517**

"You are quite sure these parameters you've set up will isolate the neural stripping to the amygdale, Dr. Warder? If you are not confident, it would be better to wait. We will not have a chance like this again."

Dr. Mathias was poised on one side of the glowing imager that was at present constructing a three-dimensional model of a human brain. During the past several minutes, his eyes had moved repeatedly between it and the flat screen showing inner slices of the same organ, but now all his attention was on Katsumi's face.

Katsumi pushed a strand of dark curly hair behind her ear and met his eyes without flinching. "If you are still concerned about the failure of your previous surgeries—"

"Failure is a strong word. You would have precious little data to work with, had we not 'failed' so many times."

Katsumi waved a hand. "You need not be indignant on your own account, Dr. Mathias. The errors can be laid squarely at the feet of those who formerly held my position." She placed a finger on the imager, and the outer layers lifted off smoothly, leaving the inner area and the brain stem exposed. "They were content with secondhand information, rather than psychoanalyzing their subjects themselves. This image I've constructed is of course imperfect—I would be surprised if there were enough scientists in the universe to perfectly analyze River Tam's brain—but I have discovered the key elements that will be relevant to you during your surgery."

Dr. Mathias examined the inner brain closely. "I will not lie, it is quite impressive. But I must say I am surprised you did not work from a model of a normal brain, and make adjustments from that base."

"We must not make the assumption that it is the obvious differences that matter when it comes to River." Katsumi paused, then added fondly, "And to lose her would be tragic. She's such a wonderful girl."

Dr. Mathias nodded. "Of course. But we can't become attached, you know that. When River completes her training, Parliament will be eager to put her to use."

"I'm quite aware of that," Katsumi replied, turning back to the base of the screen. "But it might perhaps have helped if your former colleagues had been more 'attached' to your previous subjects."

"Which means what?"

"Only that the subjects might still be here if they had."

Dr. Mathias shook his head. "No one is more pained by those deaths than I. As I told you when you came to work here, the doctors responsible were properly reprimanded."

Katsumi gave a faint half-smile. "At the time, I was unsure if you were reassuring me or warning me what would happen if I were to fail."

"There will be no failure this time. If I cannot prove to Parliament that we are progressing...it could be the end of all this good work."

"Then we must succeed," Katsumi agreed. "The government forgets at times that science as well as laws created civilization. I suppose that I still must stay in the dark about the true purpose for the neural stripping?"

"You would suppose correctly." Dr. Mathias fixed his eyes on the construct of the brain, gleaming gently in the light from the imager. "Secrecy is vital. I am not suggesting you are not to be trusted, of course. But one never knows what, or who, may disrupt all our plans."

**OoOoO**

The assistant surgeon rapped on the doorframe. "Dr. Katsumi Warder? May I come in?"

"Of course." Katsumi waved him to a seat. "The last I saw you was a week ago, when you and Dr. Mathias were prepping for the River Tam surgery."

"That's right. Dr. Mathias said you'd expressed concern, since you've been doing psychoanalysis with her. He thought you might want to know that the surgery was an unadulterated success. She isn't awake yet, but that's to be expected."

"Splendid." Katsumi let out a breath. "He is to be congratulated. And so are you and the other assistants."

"I understand you had no small part in it yourself."

"For the good of us all. Did he say when my analysis sessions with River would be resuming?"

"Ah, that's the other thing he wanted me to tell you. They won't be."

Katsumi frowned. "What do you mean, they won't be?"

The assistant shifted in his chair. "Your psychoanalysis sessions with River Tam won't be resuming."

"You must have misunderstood. Dr. Mathias knows as well as anyone that extensive neural stripping requires concentrated therapy afterwards."

"Oh, he knows that," the assistant said hurriedly. "It's just that _you_ won't be doing the therapy."

"Oh, really? And who will?"

"I didn't ask. He hasn't been in a good mood lately."

"And that's why he neglected to tell me himself that he would be reassigning the sessions?" Katsumi snapped, and then what the assistant had said caught up with her. "Wait a moment. You said the surgery was an unadulterated success. Why is Dr. Mathias not in a good mood? He should be over the moon."

The assistant looked thoroughly miserable. "Don't blame me. I'm just the messenger."

Katsumi composed herself. "True. I will speak to Dr. Mathias myself, when an opportunity presents itself."

"That's probably for the best," the assistant agreed, obviously relieved.

**OoOoO**

River Tam, undisputed genius and intuitive phenomenon, lay on the operating chair in a drug-induced haze, trying to remember how one stopped a hurricane. There was a storm in her head, whirling and roaring and tearing, nerves, synapses, too much, too fast.

_They were known on Earth-That-Was as typhoons and tropical cyclones. The most destructive of storms._

It was gone, entirely gone. They cut it out. Her mind like a window with no glass, a porthole in a submersible, a breach in a spaceship hull, letting the nothing in until it crunched the vessel. The images blasted into her center and left her shaking. The breach of a needle in the soft place inside an elbow, a man sobbing uncontrollably and scraping bloody trails across his cheeks with his nails, a woman wrapped in plastic being slid into a disposal, her face crushed to a pulp and beyond recognition, a jar crammed full of human eyes.

_They have a core, an eye, where air pressure is low. Around the eye, winds can rotate at nearly two hundred miles per hour._

If only her head would slow down for a moment, she could find that ordered space that was before all she had known, as straight and smooth as well-oiled file cabinets. She could herd the monsters back into their cupboards, but what was the use? She would still know they were there. They would reach out with their claws and shred the curtains she put up to make herself forget, silk like her mother's dresses, silk like Simon's vests, silk like the veil of the Companion the assistant surgeon had visited last night, all oil and sliding limbs and shrieks.

_They develop around the equator of a planet with sufficient oceans. Massive storms, they can be over three hundred miles across._

And then she felt the black, outside the planet's protective cushion of atmosphere, and it was unspeakable relief to fall into it, not a thought, not an image, for miles upon miles. Like a rip in her round world, the mouth of some god ready to swallow her, and she begged inwardly to be swallowed, that the stars would eat her—blue giants, white dwarves, red supergiants—reach up and gulp her down, and stop all the pain, the pain she never had been properly able to feel. She saw the planet, hovering like an egg yolk in its shell.

_The top clouds are made of ice, the lower ones, droplets of water. The storms are huge circular bands of cumulus and cumulonimbus clouds._

But the images crashed down again, and they weren't hers, the memories weren't hers, they couldn't be. Not some bat out of hell from her own psyche, not some trauma long since forgotten. These shapes—spiders? hands? flowers?—she had no point of reference for these, they couldn't be quantified, they didn't fit into the proper spectrum, they were blue and they were red, and there was a high-pitched hum and a creak like a rocking chair, and suddenly that image was gone and she could hear words with the images.

_Though hurricanes soon die out over land, they devastate coastlines. They have been known to kill more than a million people in densely packed urban areas._

"Pens in one cup, styluses in another keep them separated and death will not come." "Blood clogging up my mouth and I was still alive when they shut the lid on me." "We're doing such fine work." "Heart going, heart going for one more second before the lightning kicks, in the gleaming wreath that jerks my pulse away." "Numbers and numbers and numbers and I was wrong how could I have been so wrong." "No one touches me and no one writes to me and I don't know why I had to go away."

River screamed.

**OoOoO**

Katsumi switched off the viewer.

_They lied to me. I trusted them, and I was wrong. How could I have been so wrong?_

She didn't know. All she knew was, Geming and Sumner had been right all along, and, somehow, she had to fix this.

**OoOoO**

River dreams.

It's all fine; all fun and games and jokes. Humor is a social construct. A man walks into a bar and puts a needle between her eyes. A woman walks into a bar and puts an ax in her hand. A Reaver walks into a bar and rapes and eats and kills.

Simon tried to tell jokes to girls, but he always said the punch line too early. Simon, slowly dropping everything, leaving it behind for her, for her, the shilling in the plum pudding that breaks your teeth anyway. Will he drop the pretty dolls he makes, drop the beauty too?

"River's quite fascinating, I think you'll find." Dr. Mathias—angel-maker he calls himself, quietly where no one hears. In the crannies of his brain. Not aloud, not to the key members of Parliament he's brought to observe her. "We've done a great deal of work with her—"

And then it came.

Dollhouses. All very safe. Toothpick fences, cardboard shingles, potholders for rugs. Dolls waiting for someone to play with them, all hunched over. So many dolls, a thousand, a million, thirty million—

_"It isn't what we thought."_

Too many dolls. Simon gave his dolls away to the people who cried. This little child was selfish. Kept them all. The dolls would never stand up, would never walk again. Dolls with rotten skin, teeth sprawling out of their mouths, skulls you could see—

Not dolls. Thirty million not-dolls—

What were we fighting for, what were we fighting for, what were we fighting for, what were we fighting for, courting death, marrying death, sex in the dark with death, waking up beside death, once you've been there you never leave—

_"There's been no war here, no terraforming event."_

It was their brave new world, their darling child, the one who would grow up to be Christ and save the world from sin. Their darling child, now an empty cradle. When the child cried, they picked it up and strangled it. They didn't sing a lullaby first. They could at least have sung a lullaby first. Hush little baby, don't say a word, Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird. If that mockingbird should fly, Mama's going to buy you a Firefly. If that ship has got no crew, Mama's going to buy you the Hands of Blue. No, that was wrong, it couldn't be quantified—

_"The environment is stable."_

Simon, hurry. We must isolate the biological basis for empathy. Is others' pain our pain? Is others' grief our grief? Some mirrors would rather crack than show a face not their own. Simon, please hurry. You are a window. You see your face in the glass, but you see a world beyond you too.

Better to be whole than broken, they say. Broken ships leave you stranded and you run out of air. Broken IVs cut off the blood, the life-giving salty blood. Broken coms cut you off from the ones you love. Broken fires won't burn. Broken knives can't cut. Broken guns won't fire. To be broken is a mercy—

_"It was supposed to calm the population, weed out aggression."_

They promised her she could dance. They did not lie. They let her dance. But they ripped it out. Now she can't tell the difference between dancing and war. Pirouette, arabesque, waltz, cabriole, grand plié, pas de deux, they could be anything, could mean anything, just six more words for death.

_"Well, it works."_

Ballet dancers, swing dancers, tap dancers. Tapping shoes, tap, tap. Each tap makes her think of a gun cocking. Each tick of the clock, each snap of a finger, each clink of a glass on a table. Tap, tap, tap. The gun goes off.

_"They stopped fighting. And then..."_

"Another day. Well, any work is good work." "It's your first job, honey, I'm so proud of you." "Boss is going crazy on me, I don't know why I don't strangle him." "I've been waiting for this promotion for so long." "Can't get fired again, have to put Kelly through school." "Get out of bed this instant, young man, and put your suit on, you have an interview!" "I'd call in sick today, but there's those files..." "I'd quit, but they need me." "Eight hour day? Ha! That's a joke."

_"They stopped."_

"Isn't worth it anymore." "I'm so tired." "He's crazy...I guess..." "Why did I think that promotion was so important?" "Why should I care if he fires me?" "You got hired where?" "Think I will call in sick." "They don't really need me." "Eight...seven...six..."

_"Stopped going to work. And then..."_

"I've been thinking about what you said—and I want kids too!" "Let me kiss you." "Let me touch you." "I saw you flirting with my wife!" "We met in the line to get new ident cards; you never know." "What do you mean, we just aren't working?" "When you say we should get dinner, do you mean—?" "If you don't shape up, I'll kick you out of this house before you can sneeze." "We have to go to the hospital, my labor is starting!" "Please, I need you now!"

_"They stopped."_

"Kids just aren't worth the trouble." "I'm not up to it tonight." "Your skin is so cold." "Fine, flirt. I don't care." "Did you say something?" "It's okay, if it doesn't work it doesn't work." "Sex is exhausting now." "Live here, live anywhere, it's all the same to me." "Stillborn, does it matter?" "Alright, I'm done, now can we sleep?"

_"Stopped breeding. And then..."_

"Hey, I'm really looking forward to seeing you!" "Listen to me, young woman!" "I just want to make sure you know how much you mean to me." "Grandmother, can you tell us a story?" "Wave me and we'll have a chat." "Your Honor, I would like to speak in defense of my client on this point." "It was beautiful, I'll tell you all about it." "Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, step right up to hear the band!" "Would it help you to talk about it?"

_"They stopped."_

Silence.

_"Stopped talking. And then..."  
_

Apples. Chicken on Sundays. Potatoes from the garden. Packaged protein—green. Cheese, from the outdoor market. Strawberries. Rice. Carrots. Packaged protein—brown. Waffles with syrup. Corn. Beef on holidays. Pickles, homemade. Packaged protein—red. Fresh bread. Fresh milk. Cheap cocoa-mix chocolate. Oranges from off-world. Sweet and sour soup. Eggs. Water.

_"They stopped."_

Apples rotting. Chickens running wild. Potatoes sprouting. Protein packs unopened. Cheese getting spots. Strawberries unpicked. Rice fields flooded. Carrots never dug. Corn turning black. Pickles still in brine. Bread with green mold. Milk turning sour. Cocoa mix never bought. Oranges never ordered. Soup grown cold. Eggs gone rotten. Water contaminated.

_"Stopped eating."_

Remember the pretty girl excited for her new ballet slippers, remember the old man who did his duty for the state all his life, remember the dog that ran and barked at strangers, remember the mother who carried her baby on her back, remember the soldiers who wrote their sweethearts every day, remember the man who was trying to quit the bottle, remember the woman who judged a thousand cases, each one fairly—

_"About ten percent of the population had the opposite reaction to the PAX"_

Rage. Everyone balances it on their head, their own small cup of acid. It falls off and it stings and it bites, but it's just a cup, a little cup. But you carry a gallon of rage, far, far too much. It will burn you and burn you and burn you until you die. You do not want to kill, so you turn your knife on yourself. But if you do not die at once, you will turn your knives on others.

_"Aggressor response increased"_

Why should you bear this alone? Why should everyone else not suffer as much as you do, with your acid rage eating your bones? Put them through the circles of fire and ice, all the pain you can think of with your mad mind. Always leave one living, one not allowed to look away, who will pass the rage on.

_"Beyond madness"_

Scientists must begin with hypotheses. Ideas skip through the mind, in again, out again, and you have to grip with feet and claws to make one real. She knows how many ideas get dropped between sleeping and wake now, she counted all the ones from the patients in her vicinity last night. One thousand three hundred and sixty-four. Approximately. Must allow for error.

Must allow for error. Error costs lives. Lives that we rip and fight and bleed and feed and nourish, gone in a moment. Even one pearl is precious to the poor, but the rich can waste a million of them without cost. Thirty million pearls. Thirty million people on that planet far away...

_"We meant it for the best—to make people safer"_

"What's wrong with her?"

"I thought she was better today!"

"Get me a soother—"

"No!" River wailed. "No, don't make me sleep, I don't want to sleep—for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil must give us pause—"

Dr. Mathias caught her arms. "River, calm down. You're fine, you're—"

"Aye, but to die and go we know not where—to bathe in fiery floods, or to reside in thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice, to be imprisoned in the viewless winds, and blown with restless violence round about the pendent world—"

"River, be quiet!"

River thrashed. "No! Let all our trumpets speak! Give them breath, those clamorous harbingers of blood and death!"

"Here's the soother—"

As the needle plunged into her arm, one last word leaped into River's mind.

_Miranda._


	7. Outside the Law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earlier version beta'd by KrisEleven.
> 
> Translations: Are here.  
> Le-se—Garbage  
> Chu feil wo si le—Over my dead body  
> Dong ma?—Understand?  
> Wo de ma he ta de feng kuang de wai sheng dou—Holy Mother of God and all her wacky nephews  
> Ni men dou shi shagua—Idiots, all of you

**The planet Osiris, February of the year 2517**

They’d taken away his hands, and that terrified him. Simon had never been a fighter, not physically at least; that wasn’t the point. As all his intellect had grown to seem progressively more useless in his search for River, he’d come to rely on his hands for a sense of steadiness, for something he could still depend on. He was a surgeon, and they never shook.

Now he could not see his hands. Nor could he move them, not even enough to brush at the tickle of blood running into his palms. Simon chastised himself for not knowing better than to fight the top-of-the-line handcuffs, but the panic when the Feds had grabbed him had been too great to resist. Was it all going to end now, when he was so close? The doctor realized vaguely that he was more frightened for River, abandoned at the Academy with no one to come for her, than he was for himself, even standing in a lineup while his DNA imprint was processed before being thrown into jail.

_They’re hurting us. Get me out._

Simon rocked a vein in his lip between his teeth. No. He would get out of here if he had to defy the laws of physics, much less government or morality. He would make that top-three-percent ranking good for more than landing jobs in places sanitized from every hint of moral ambiguity. Perhaps he was going mad. The idea disturbed him less than it should have. The longer he searched, the longer it seemed that his previous cosseted existence had been the dream, and that this—using credits and coin for bribes, dropping drugs in alcohol and smearing them on his own lips, erasing his waves and shutting out the concern in his colleagues’ voices—this was real.

"Thieving _le-se_ _."_ The guard’s voice was more bored than malicious. "At least rats have the sense to stay away when there’s traps about. I was hoping to get home early tonight. Now—"

"Hey, Officer." The man behind the desk was frowning. "This one’s in our database."

"So? Bet you anything half these idiots have prior records. It was a blackout zone, not a beauty salon."

"No, no prior record. Federal listing."

"Details?"

The man behind the desk tapped on his touch-screen. "Oh, hey, a MedAcad license. No previous crimes...works at St. Martin’s...Dr. Simon Tam. We should probably wave his folks, tell them what happened."

"I’ll do you one better. Tell them if they pay two thousand we’ll let him off with a warning. I’ve got enough files to hunt through as it is."

"Got it. We can grab him out of the holding cell later if we need to."

**OoOoO**

The guard slammed shut the door of the cell. Simon hunched in the corner and hoped the other three men who shared the cramped space would leave him alone. He hadn't seen Geming or Sumner on the way here, for which he was grateful. At least if he got out, there would still be a chance of their being able to help him and River.

"This is your fault," one of the men accused the other. "If you hadn't let them hit you with the rifle, I wouldn't have tripped and—"

"Let? I _let_ them shoot me? Next you'll be sayin' I _planned_ for us to be there the night of a raid!"

"You're stupid enough," the first man snapped. "Our first job, and we get snatched. And one of the Feds stole all the coin I brought with me tonight. Count on these Alliance dogs to grab everything they can get."

"They do that," the third man grumbled. "Haven't you ever been in jail before?"

The second man opened his mouth, then closed it, and his eyes alighted on Simon. "Maybe we can get it back," he said craftily. "That man looks like he could have something we want."

"I don't—" Simon began, but the first man was already dragging him out of the corner, turning his pockets inside out.

"There's no coin here."

"Of course there isn't," Simon snapped, trying to jerk out of his hold. "The same man who took your money took mine. You should have realized that, you fool."

The man threw him down hard on the floor. Simon felt his head crack against the wall, already cursing himself for losing his temper. "You've got a tongue on you. Maybe I should rip it out." Fear rose in Simon's throat. _I can't do a thing..._

"Hey! Are you straight off the Rim or what?" The third man spoke up. "Expensive Alliance cell, remember? Monitors! They'll punish us all if they catch you fighting."

The man who'd knocked Simon down whirled on his partner. "Why didn't you think of that?"

"Why didn't _I_ think of that? Why didn't _you_ think of that?"

The third man eyed the doctor. "Save it for later. Guards don't much care what happens in prison." He grinned nastily at Simon. "Got no money, hmm? Well, there's other things you can bargain with when you're there."

Simon gritted his teeth. _River. Who's going to help River? If I don't get out of here, she'll be alone..._

There was a click and the door slid open. "You people are nothing but trouble. You deserve to rot." He pulled Simon to his feet by one arm and dragged him out of the cell. "Come on."

The third man sighed. "Too bad. We were having so much fun."

**OoOoO**

"Have you completely lost your mind?"

_Let's see. I've been robbed from, shot at, lost at least ten pounds from stress, and just came from hearing that the government I trusted is playing with my beloved meimei's_ _brain._ "Pretty nearly."

Simon's father glared at him. "We got the wave at the Friedlich's. I had to leave your mother at the dinner table."

_What?_ "I'm sorry, Dad. You know I would never have tried to save River's life if I had known there was a dinner party at risk."

"Don't you dare be flippant with me." Gabriel's voice was low. "I just spent two thousand credits to get you out of here and I had to walk through that door which goes on my permanent profile." He glanced behind him. "Are you _trying_ to destroy this family?"

"I didn't realize it would be so easy." It was the wrong thing to say, and Simon realized that instantly. "Dad, I...I didn't do anything."

"You were in a blackout zone—"

"Talking! To someone who might be able to help River. And I'm going right back there." Simon lurched past his father.

Gabriel blocked him before he could go far and led him toward the door. _"_ _Chu feil wo si le._ This is a slippery slope, young man, you have no idea how far down you can go, and you're not taking us with you."

"Meaning what?"

"I won't come for you again. You end up here, or get mixed up in something worse—you're on your own. I will not come for you."

_This isn't happening. I'm your son, River is your daughter. Not toys you play with and throw away when they get broken._

"Now, are you coming home?"

**OoOoO**

Simon stared dully at his parents across the dinner table. "What is it you want from me?"

His mother reached for his hand. "Simon. Don't do this. We've been worried sick about you."

_I wish you'd worry less about me and more about River._ "Are you concerned about me, or how you're going to explain to society that your son is a criminal?"

Regan drew back. "You're not a criminal, Simon!"

"Yes, Mother, I am. I was in a blackout zone. What's more, I've been meeting with smugglers, thieves, and spies on a regular basis for the past two years," Simon spat. "And furthermore, I'm going to continue doing so until—"

"You will do no such thing," Simon's father said coldly. "The conditions of your release, such as they are, will not allow it."

"The conditions of my release?"

"Are in the form of a verbal agreement with an Alliance official, but are no less binding for all that." Gabriel met Simon's eyes. "You are to live in this house, and be under our supervision. We will monitor you for any sign of this madness continuing."

"Live here? What are you talking about? I have my apartment—"

"The lease on which has now been cancelled. In addition, you will agree to see a psychologist—"

"I don't want to see anyone but River!" Simon exploded. "Would you even listen if I told you what I found out tonight? The government you cut deals with is playing with River's brain!"

Regan cut in. "Simon, we want to help you."

"Help River, then. Help me get her out. To somewhere safe. I know we could do it, if we just—"

"I know we could end up in prison, or worse," Gabriel snapped. "That is what I know for certain. You know nothing, only whispers that may not be true."

"Please." Simon took a breath to calm himself. _Tell me I was wrong, tell me you're not going to give up on us._ "Just for once, can't you give us what we need?"

"For once? We've always given you anything you could want!"

"And the one time I ask you for something that really matters, you say no!"

"Gabriel! Simon!" Regan laid her hands on the table. "You're both overexcited. I'm sure if we talk about this in the morning—"

"No," Gabriel said firmly. "We are not going to talk about this in the morning, or at all. It isn't negotiable. Simon, you will stay here until you are fit to leave."

Simon bit his lip and closed his eyes. "Fine. But I'll need my things."

"Very well. We'll retrieve them now. The sooner you are truly at home, the better."

**OoOoO**

Dr. Robina Mahdavi propped her hands on her hips. "Simon Tam, this had better be an emergency. A horrible emergency with a lot of blood."

Simon hefted the bag he'd hastily packed over one shoulder. "Well, there's some blood. Not a lot." He held up his hands.

Mahdavi held the door open. "Those are from handcuffs, aren't they? You have some serious explaining to do." Simon stumbled into the hall. His host shut the door and pointed through to a couch in the next room. "Sit down and start talking. Now."

Simon sat, dropping his bag down beside him. "I was in a blackout zone, talking to Geming and Sumner." He sighed. "I got caught. Dad came to get me out, but..."

"But what?" Mahdavi prompted.

"He and Mother don't believe me about River being in danger. They made a deal with an Alliance official that I'd be under their supervision until I agree to drop the issue." Simon's voice turned harsh. "I told them what I'd learned, I told them the government was playing with River's brain—"

"Hold on five seconds." Mahdavi held up a hand. "Playing with her brain?"

"Behavioral conditioning, chemical-altering drugs, maybe even surgery. They don't know why, just..." Simon trailed off, then righted himself. "I have to get her out, and I can't do that with two parents and a psychologist watching my every move."

"How did you get away from them?"

"I had my father take me back to my apartment to get my things. He waited outside the door to keep me from leaving. It's on the ground floor, so I climbed out the window." Simon gestured to his bag. "This was all I could bring. And I still have the money in my bank accounts."

"But won't they be after you?"

"I doubt it." Simon smiled bitterly. "They won't want anyone to know I got away from them."

"Your parents are fools. And you got yourself caught?" Mahdavi shook her head. "I'm not letting you out on your own until you can prove your sufficiency at the whole thinking thing." She grabbed a blanket off the back of a chair and threw it at him. "If any Feds turn up here, you're going to cover your head with this and let me do the talking,  _dong ma?"_

"Yes. Thank you. I mean..." Simon stared at his former professor blankly. "Why are you...won't I be putting you in danger too?"

Mahdavi gave a bleak smile. "Not any more than I'm already in. Now, get some sleep. If Geming and Sumner do have a plan, I have a feeling you're going to need your rest."

**The planet Osiris, March of the year 2517**

_"Wo de ma he ta de feng kuang de wai sheng dou!_ Simon Tam, where have you been all this time?"

Simon whipped around from where he'd been sitting on Dr. Mahdavi's back steps, working on one of his wood carvings. "Ahuva! What are you doing here? If you get caught in a blackout zone—"

"Never mind me. I've been worried sick about you!" Ahuva ran up to him. "It took me forever to even find out where you were."

Giving in to the relief at seeing a face he knew he could trust, Simon dropped his carving and knife and hugged Ahuva tightly. "How _did_ you find out?"

"A lot of bribes, and then I was in a bar and Dr. Mahdavi recognized me from MedAcad. She guessed I might be looking for you. What happened, that you're here?"

Simon quickly explained the situation with River as he retrieved his carving and knife. By the time he finished, Ahuva looked horrified. "Playing with her brain? That's—awful. But are you sure this is the only way to get her out?"

"I've been trying for months. Geming and Sumner are the only people who've managed to give me any information at all, so I'm wagering on them."

Ahuva laid her hand on his arm. "You wouldn't do well in prison. I don't think you realize that properly."

"I know." Simon put a hand over hers. "Prison isn't particularly kind to anyone."

"You can't win in a fight," Ahuva said bluntly. "Not your fault, you've never been taught, and it'd be nice if you never had to learn. But now you're an outlaw, Simon. You'll have to fight to survive."

"If I have to learn to fight, that's what I'll do."

"People learn to fight by losing, and what safe place do you have to do that? I've done studies on disease on penal moons, and it's not hard to tell that if you lose a fight there, whoever wins can do what they like because the guards and officials don't intervene."

"I don't care."

"You should. There'd be nothing to stop them from beating you or raping you or taking your food until you starve."

"And how do I know River isn't hurting just that badly?" Simon demanded. "Since I learned what they were doing to her, I haven't slept through the night. I have to make myself eat, and I'm barely eating at all. But no matter how much I'm hurting, I always know River is hurting more. So why not be in prison? It couldn't be worse."

Ahuva shook her head. "Yes, it could. You may be sane in a crazy 'verse, but the crazy 'verse is still the one you have to live in. I know you have help—and I'll help too, if it comes to that—"

"You don't have to—"

"I'm glad to, Simon. As I said, you have help, but you're still one man, and there's some things no one gets through whole. Just try not to learn about them first-hand."

**OoOoO**

"Here, throw it over here!"

"Don't let him get it!"

"Come on, come on, come on!"

Simon paused by the group of kids playing keep-away outside the compound. He'd wandered by here more than once in his search for the address Geming had given him over the wave, and he was fairly sure he was lost.

"Take it up, take it up there!"

"That's right, go!"

The boy trying to get the ball planted his feet and glared. "You can't go up on the roof! That's not fair."

"Sure it's fair!" The girl who'd scaled the house tossed the ball up and down. "Come up and get it!"

_"Ni men dou shi shagua."_ The boy stomped away.

Simon caught up with him. "Excuse me. Ah, would you mind—that is to say, could you tell me—how to get 193 on Jade Street?"

The boy gave him a look. "You're new, aren't you?"

"Um, yes."

The boy rolled his eyes. "193 is there." He pointed at the house the girl was sitting on, which Simon had passed twice.

"Half the numbers are missing and the rest are out of order," offered another kid. "So new folk get lost."

"Well. Thank you." Simon knocked, and had to duck quickly to avoid getting hit by the ball the girl suddenly hurled down to her compatriots.

After a few moments, the door opened, revealing a woman with carelessly braided reddish-blond hair and steady green eyes. "Hello. Come in, we're expecting you."

Uncertain, Simon stepped over the threshold. The woman closed the door with a snap and held out her hand. "Dr. Tam. You can call me Csizmadia. My husband—that would be Sumner, to you—filled me in on your story."

Simon shook her hand, relieved that she'd given him the pseudonym he recognized. "I'm very glad to meet you."

"Hmm." Csizmadia raised her eyebrows. "A criminal like me?"

"You're not the one playing with River's brain." Thinking of that still set Simon's teeth on edge; he didn't know if he'd ever get used to the idea.

"True enough. Come on, we're meeting in here."

She led the way into a kitchen near the back of the house. Simon blinked at the peaceful-looking, sunlit room. Csizmadia looked at him, obviously amused. "I'm guessing you're more used to dark alleys and blackout zones?"

"Now, dear heart, don't confuse the man." Sumner, sitting at a wooden table, waved Simon to a seat. "People don't think of outlaws as having tea on a pleasant afternoon, which makes it safer for us to do so than meet in a, shall we say, more traditional locale."

Geming, seated across from him, snorted quietly. "Ya just like tea. Let's get to it."

Simon sat down, feeling nervous. He wasn't sure he completely trusted Geming and Sumner, and Csizmadia he'd never seen before. It didn't help that they were all carrying guns—hidden from sight, but Simon had learned to spot such things.

Csizmadia took a chair herself, resting her elbows on the table. "Alright, Dr. Tam. First things first. We know the location of the Academy. It's on a small moon off Liann Juin."

Simon nodded, trying to tamp down his eagerness. "How is their security?"

"As tight as ya can get without keepin' the air out," Geming informed him. "Think it's fair to tell ya, Doctor, we ain't done this exact thing before. Prison escape's a Sunday picnic in comparison. I should know."

"What we really need is blueprints." Sumner tapped his fingers on the table. "Unfortunately, they are not available."

"I can pay—" Simon began.

Sumner waved him off. "No one is even trying to sell them. I have searched most dedicatedly."

"Then what are we going to do?" Simon tried to keep panic out of his voice. If these people couldn't help him, he didn't know what he'd do. He hardly had the money pay them, much less find anyone else.

"It's possible we can get them from Swallowtail," Csizmadia said. "If she even decides it's worth the risk to contact us again."

"Who is this Swallowtail?" Simon asked cautiously. "How do we know we can trust her?"

"We don't," the three replied in unison.

"Ya see why it's so risky," Geming explained. "Whole thing could fall apart at the last minute if she informs."

"Still, the basic structure of our plan can be decided upon," Sumner said. "Inside people, or outside people."

"I'm afraid I don't know—" Simon began, embarrassed.

Csizmadia took over. "See, with this kind of thing—a heist, if you will—there are two choices. One is, you can pay the people inside the institution to sneak what you want out. Two is, you can just go in yourself and get it, paying the people who are likely to spot you along the way."

"Which is the best?"

Sumner laughed grimly. "If it were that simple, we would not be having this discussion. The first way is less risky for you personally. It is expensive, but your safety is more assured. On the other hand, it is not as likely to work. There is a good chance they will take your money and vanish."

"And that's in addition to the coin you will have to pay _us."_ Csizmadia's mouth quirked. "Pulling the wool over Alliance eyes does give some satisfaction, but our work costs coin. Call it a consultant's fee."

"What about the second option?" Simon asked. "The one where you go in yourself and get it?"

"Daredevil option," Geming pronounced. "Ya get caught, ya get maximum security or the wrong end of a gun. But the whole game's in your hands. Ya can make sure ya get what you're after, instead of endin' up with an empty cryo box."

"Cryo box?" Simon wished fervently he wasn't so out of his depth.

"How else are you planning to smuggle your sister off the Core?" Csizmadia asked. "Disguise won't do. From what we've heard, her mind's going to be in pretty poor shape. You can't trust her not to give you both away."

_I used to trust River with everything._ "And I suppose you can't try again if you take the first option and people let you down."

"Impossible," Geming agreed. "Folk get their wind up, and ya probably don't have the coin for it anyhow."

"Then the second option. If we can." Simon took a breath. "And when you say coin..."

Sumner looked at him. "Probably everything you have. It's your choice, but if you want to get your sister back, you'll come out poor."

"I'm not giving up," Simon said firmly. "No matter what it takes."

And he would just have to pray he had the strength to keep that promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fun pseudonym: Malka Csizmadia was a Hungarian who helped rescue Jews during the Holocaust.


	8. Silken Interference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earlier version beta'd by KrisEleven. Many thanks!
> 
> Translations: Are below.  
> Jing chang mei yong de—Consistently useless  
> Zhen dao mei—Just our luck  
> Hun dan—Bastard  
> 

**In the black, March of the year 2517**

Inara climbed the stairs to the bridge and smiled at Wash, who had just set down two of his plastic dinosaurs. "By all means, continue. I just came up for a little stargazing."

"They're asleep now," Wash replied brightly. "Worn out from a day of frolicking."

"I don't doubt it." Inara chuckled.

The wave screen crackled to life, and a woman's annoyed face appeared. "I need to speak to Captain Reynolds right away."

The face was unknown to Inara, but apparently not to Wash, for he switched on the com. "Mal, I think we've got a problem. You've got a wave from Captain Devi."

"Hold on, I'll be up to the bridge in a sec." Mal's voice came back through the com.

Inara frowned as Wash fiddled with the dials, trying to get better reception. It was probably best she stay out of this, but she couldn't help some curiosity about their current job. She moved back so she couldn't be seen in the wave screen just as Mal hurried up the stairs.

"Here, that's the best I can do." Wash moved away to stand behind Mal.

The woman—Captain Devi—looked at Mal. "I'll just jump straight into this and say you're not going to like what I have to tell you. If it's any consolation, I'm suffering equally."

"Did you find out what's wrong with them engine parts?"

Devi scowled. "No. But Benson got snatched by people who wanted to know who I'd sent them with, and that  _jing chang mei yong de_ idiot went and told them all about how I'd hired you to deliver."

_"Zhen dao mei_ _._ So we're gonna have people after us."

"I'm afraid so. Good news is, they want those parts, so they won't blow you up. Of course, if they take your ship, they might just shoot everyone aboard. And if my gorram shipment doesn't come through, my clients are going to be mad as hell."

Mal glared. "Having a pissed-off client don't really compare with getting my crew killed, Devi."

"Why do you think I'm telling you this? It's not exactly flattering to admit the fool I hired spilled his guts at the threat of a little torture. Anyway, you've got a day's head start on them, but I'd go for hard burn until you're further away."

"Right."

"Good luck, Captain Reynolds." Devi ended the wave.

Inara frowned. From what she knew about this job, it seemed odd for people to be so determined to get their hands on a selection of engine parts. Unless…

Wash cleared his throat. "Want me to do like she said, go for hard burn?"

"Can we?" Mal asked.

"For a while. Not all the way to Beylix, but whoever's after us probably can't either."

"Then do that."

Wash went to the com. "Kaylee, need you in the engine room."

"Comin'!" Kaylee's voice came back.

Inara stepped forward. "Actually, I have a—"

Mal turned to scowl at her. "Don't see how it's your business."

"Getting shot would be very much my business."

"How long were you listening, anyway?"

Inara ignored him, turning to Wash. "Did you have Kaylee look at the engine parts to see if they might have been particularly valuable?"

Mal cut in. "We did. Couldn't find nothing amiss."

"What about the crates? Did you look at those?"

Mal blinked. "The crates?"

"Yes, Mal, the crates. Were there secret compartments?"

"No way, we'd have noticed."

"Not if my theory is correct." Inara turned and swept from the room.

Mal followed. "What'd that be? The theory of me not having eyes?"

**OoOoO**

"Silk?" Jayne stared, clearly puzzled, at the shimmering folds of cloth Inara held. "Why would folk wanna smuggle silk?"

Zoe pried one side of the second crate apart. "There's more in here. Cloth's thin enough we wouldn't have found it, we weren't looking for it."

"Couldn't people smuggle credits in this kinda thing?" Kaylee asked. "Why the pretties?"

"This particular type of silk is hand-woven and very valuable," Inara explained. "The Companion House on the planet we just left put a bulletin up on the Cortex, saying that some of their goods had been stolen. The timing aroused my suspicion."

"So we're risking our lives over cloth," Mal grumbled. "This just ain't my day. 'Sides, who'd trample over blood just so they could boast their clothing was a shred rarer? Be like wearing a haunted dress."

Inara gave a charming smile. "I'm surprised the idea of a reward for the return for this silk hasn't entered your thief's brain yet."

"We gotta live to collect. Kaylee, have you set up the hard burn?"

"It's all shiny, Captain."

"Good. Wash, I want someone tracking for another ship all the time. No point in letting 'em sneak up on us."

**OoOoO**

"Hey, 'Nara!" Kaylee's grinning face appeared from under the engine. "Didja need somethin'?"

Inara smiled down at her friend. "Actually, I was looking for Mal or Zoe. I have to schedule appointments in a few minutes, and I need to know how long we'll be on Beylix."

"Oh, well, I think it'll be a few days at least. Captain said we can buy those synchronizers if the job comes through, and we might have to do a few repairs, especially if we keep on with the hard burn." Kaylee scratched her ear. "Zoe's up on the bridge with Wash. Captain was in a right state the last time I saw him, so ya might wanna try her first."

Inara laughed. "Well, we wouldn't want to infringe on the captain's right to be in a bad mood. Thank you." She left the engine room, holding her skirts out of the grease, and climbed the stairs to the bridge.

Zoe was leaning against the console, watching her husband attack a triceratops with a pterodactyl. "I have horns! You cannot think to thwart my will!" "Haha, I can fly! I have a PhD in will-thwarting!"

Inara stood in the doorway. "I don't mean to interrupt, but, Zoe, do you know how long we'll be on Beylix?"

"Captain's planning on five days," Zoe replied, still watching the dinosaurs battle.

"Ah! You pricked my wing, you three-horned  _hun dan_ _!"_ "See? It's not the length of the horns, it's what you do with them!"

"Thank you, Zoe." Inara retreated from the bridge towards her own shuttle. As she neared the kitchen, she heard the sounds of Mal and Jayne arguing.

"—not hearing this again, Jayne."

"But we could make real coin off it, and ya just—"

"If 'Nara's right, we can return that silk to the Companion House, get something for our trouble."

"Not as much as if we sold it ourselves. Come on, Mal—"

"Listen, we know as close to nothing as you can get about who buys that stuff or how much it's worth or whether anyone's likely to come after us for infringing on their market. Ain't worth it."

"Ya just don't want 'Nara to think you're stealin' from other whores like her."

"Leave 'Nara out of it, Jayne. She don't make my decisions for me."

Inara moved away before she could hear any more and crossed to her shuttle, sliding the door shut behind her. The silk coverlet on her bed was mussed, and she automatically moved to straighten it.

"This stuff's real shiny, 'Nara," Kaylee had said last night, flopping on her belly on the bed. "Didja get it from a client?"

Inara smiled softly at the memory. Telling her friend about clients could be better than entertaining the clients themselves, though it truly wasn't fair to compare. One was work, the other was play. Besides, Kaylee never got bored or jaded, and, conversely, never pretended she liked a story when she didn't.

Of course, the coverlet Kaylee had been asking about at that point was one Inara had bought herself, specifically chosen to create the mood she wanted for her place of union. She didn't know she could ever sleep comfortably in that bed, any more than she could entertain clients in her own. It was only healthy, after all, to keep one's work and rest spaces separate.

On a whim, Inara left the coverlet mussed, and went to sit in front of her appointment screen. "Beylix. The city of Thetis. I am available to make appointments."

Mahidol Angchuan was waiting to speak with her at this time, she knew. She tapped on the screen and his face appeared. "Inara. It is wonderful to see with you again."

Inara curved her lips. "I'm glad to say the feeling is mutual."

"I do hope you will be arriving after the tenth of March. My business affairs will quite occupy me before that, and to miss you would be a tragedy."

"I will be available in a few days," Inara promised, "and will be staying until the fifteenth." She cast her eyes down modestly—Mahidol favored such things, she had heard from other Companions. "I should be glad if we happened to meet in that time..."

**OoOoO**

"...and I'd appreciate it very much if I could, ah, have you come. To my estate. Um, I am available the seventeenth..."

Inara turned off the message the would-be client had left her. An hour of sitting in front of the screen was about all she could do at a time, especially when two of her messages turned out to be advertisements from Beylix Waffle Cone Central. She would be having a word with the Guild about how they had gotten her wave code.

As often happened when she was left to herself, Inara's thoughts drifted towards Mal. Of course, such thoughts were entirely unsuitable. A Companion owed it to each of her clients to give them her full attention, to not be preoccupied by thoughts of other partners. It was part of what separated them from the unlicensed. When a man or woman hired a Companion, they weren't just paying for sex, they were paying for emotional attention. Mal took entirely too much of that attention without even meaning to.

It was funny, considering how disapproving the heads of her profession would be if they knew of her feelings, that she was attracted to Mal partially because she _was_ a Companion, because part of a Companion's job was to help clients work out their problems, and that was what had drawn Inara to that profession in the first place. She knew Mal disliked intimacy, and she wanted to help.

Only it was unlikely to endear her to Mal if he knew that part of her attraction to him came because his problems appealed to her talents.

It was a pity she couldn't talk to Kaylee about this. Her friend, for all her seeming lack of guile, had a way of seeing through the trappings to the direct issue. Kaylee's simplicity tugged at her heart as much as Mal's complexity, but with Kaylee, there was no desire to fix anything. In fact, Inara admitted to herself, there was a certain desire to _be_ fixed, to pour all her problems in Kaylee's lap and cry on her shoulder. But a Companion's shields were there for a reason, and they couldn't come down just because she had some mad longing to have Kaylee tinker with her as she tinkered with Serenity, making her strong enough to go another day. Inara was strong enough on her own. She had to be.

She heard footsteps outside the door, and Mal strolled into her room without knocking. "I'm sure whatever you had to say is very important and completely justifies your entering my shuttle before I've given you permission."

"Oh, yeah. Real urgent," Mal assures her. "Just hoping you could get in touch with your House, ask 'em if the fancy cloth some idiot stuffed in our engine crates is what they lost."

"That couldn't wait?"

Mal shrugged. "Apparently not."

Inara rolled her eyes. "I will speak with them soon. At the moment, I am making appointments with my clients." She leaned over casually to turn off her screen, and hit the playback button by accident.

"Got a hankering for hazelnut? Want to chow down on chocolate? Then drop by Beylix Waffle Cones! Best in the 'verse, by vote of—" Inara swung around and poked her screen, silencing the unctuous voice.

Mal raised his eyebrows. "Right. Clients. Absolutely."

Inara opened her mouth to respond, but her retort was cut off by Zoe's urgent voice through the com. "Captain, we need you on the bridge. Kaylee, get to the engine room if you're not there already."

Mal was off in a second, Inara hurrying behind him. It took something serious to send Zoe that off-balance.

Jayne, Wash, and Zoe were gathered around the wave screen. "—hold on just a minute," Wash was saying, "he'll be able to talk with you."

"My patience is running low," declared an unfamiliar voice. "You have something of mine that I wish returned."

Mal shouldered his way to the front of the group. "You calling us thieves? 'Cause that just might not be the best way of getting what you want."

"Believe me, Captain, I have absolutely no interest in whether you are a thief or the king of Ariel, unless, of course, either career involves you taking what I want."

"And you're saying that's what's happened now?"

"Precisely."

"Well, why don't you just tell us what it is you think we have, and we'll tell you whether you're right." Inara and Zoe rolled their eyes in unison as Mal grinned at the screen, the picture of a man who just solved all the problems of the 'verse.

"Because I have no reason to believe you would be telling the truth. I'm afraid the only solution is for us to search your vessel."

"The only solution, huh? Pardon, but it's sounding like you're suffering from a severe lack of imagination."

"Oh, really?" The unfamiliar voice was apparently trying to sound threatening. Inara scoffed inwardly. Some people just couldn't skip the posturing.

"There's all kinds of things that could happen instead. First and foremost being, of course, that we just take off before you get here. Think of that?"

"You are annoying, Captain. I may have to blow you out of the sky."

Jayne gave the screen an incredulous look. "Are ya _always_ like this?"

"Yeah," Wash added. "Are we supposed to be intimidated or something?"

“You, ahem, ‘blow us out of the sky,’ and you’ll lose whatever it is you want,” Mal told the man on the screen. "Way I see it, your best choice is to negotiate."

"I do not negotiate. I am obeyed."

The crew of Serenity exchanged baffled looks. "Not by us, you ain't," Mal finally said.

"If you don't show a little respect—" The screen went blank.

Wash fiddled with the dial. "This isn't a malfunction. He cut the connection."

Zoe turned to Mal. "Sir, do you think we should—"

With a static noise, the wave flashed back into action, and a new voice floated out. "I apologize for my employer. He seems to have bungled things again."

"I have not!" shouted the first man from off-screen. "You know nothing about dealing with their types! Their brain structure has been analyzed as inferior on three Core planets!"

"Only three?" Zoe asked, straight-faced.

"You're disappointing this man here." Wash pointed at Jayne. "He was hoping for seven at least."

"Your amateur psychology has no place in the black," the new voice told the first. "You pay me to handle this kind of thing. Well, let me handle it."

"Modern doctors from various fields have declared that those from the border planets are instinctual followers! If you just act like you're in charge—"

Inara peered over Zoe's shoulder to see the first man trying to wrestle the second away from the screen. After a few moments, the former disappeared and the latter cut the connection.

Kaylee's voice crackled through the com. "Is there, um, anythin' I should be doin'?"

"Not just yet," Mal told her.

"I wonder what he'd make of my dinosaurs," Wash said thoughtfully.

"The triceratops would no doubt require a Freudian analysis," Inara informed him. "As would Jayne's obsession with guns."

"Who's Freud?" Mal demanded.

"A doctor from Earth-That-Was. Mainly a museum piece now, but psychology is part of a Companion's training. If you had more knowledge of it, you might avoid provoking at least three bar fights on any planet we land on."

"Hey. One was Jayne's fault."

The wave screen flashed back into action. "Right." The second man's cheekbone was now red and swollen, but he seemed relatively unfazed. "My employer has been temporarily neutralized."

"Neutralized?" Jayne asked puzzled.

"He knocked him out," Zoe translated.

"I have a proposal for you," said the employer-neutralizer. "I've heard you're shipping out with some Companion. No doubt she can tell you how much the House would pay to have that silk returned. I'm prepared to offer twice that amount."

Mal frowned. "Why?"

"My employer has some aunt whose husband wants it, and he's a bad man to cross. Got quite the reputation for that, in fact. We made an agreement with him, and I'd rather take the loss of coin than not get him what he wants."

"So what's your proposal?"

"We'll send you coordinates for a meeting place. Simple exchange."

"No offense, but we've been ambushed a goodly number of times in our illustrious career," Mal told him.

"So have we, but I'm afraid at this point we have no choice." The employer-neutralizer scowled.

"Then _we_ pick the coordinates."

"If you must."

"Right, then. I'll send them along." Mal switched off the screen.

"I don't like it, sir." Zoe looked at her captain. "They gave in too quick."

Inara knew she'd probably regret giving advice, but jumped in anyway. "They may very well have an advantage over us that is so great they don't need to pick their own meeting place."

"Ya just don't wanna give the silk to anyone but your own folk," Jayne declared. "I say we do it."

Mal glanced at Inara, but addressed himself to Zoe. "Whatever job we'd take in place of this could be worse, easy. We ain't trying to sell that gorram cloth on the market, just making a deal with them as can. Think Jayne's got the right of it after all."

Inara moved silently away, back to her shuttle. She should really be glad the job was out of her hands. She knew hardly anything about smuggling or crime of any kind, and had no desire to learn. It would just entangle her further in a dangerous world. Mal's world. Kaylee's world.

But there were times when her own job seemed make-believe, even to her. She was reminded of that when her clients wanted to enact fantasies that they had known each other forever, that she was a lover who had always been there and would continue to be so. Inara knew she was providing an important service to those who, for one reason or another, were not able to find affection elsewhere. But she was always aware that what she did was only a substitute for long-lasting love.

It was times like this Inara wished she was more than just the Ambassador on Serenity. She wished she was crew.


	9. Anniversary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earlier version beta'd by KrisEleven.
> 
> Translations: Are below.  
> Ai ya! Women wanle—We're in big trouble  
> Gao yang zhong de gu yang—Motherless goats of all motherless goats  
> Baobei—Sweetheart  
> Jing cai—Brilliant

**The planet Beylix, March of the year 2517**

Wash steered Serenity towards the coordinates on Beylix with care, all while contemplating the benefits of being cheerful. These were many, and worth recording in times of hardship when his fellow crewmates insisted on being all warrior-like and stoic.

Firstly, being cheerful allowed him to weather such phrases as: "Wash! The gorram landing equipment broke, and we're two minutes from being out of fuel!" "Wash! The planet where we stocked up on water had a cholera outbreak!" "Fly faster, Wash! They're Reavers, not ruttin' glass dolls!" "Wash, if you bring up the sheep incident one more time..."

Secondly, being cheerful made Zoe smile. As the one who woke her up from dreams of Serenity Valley, Wash knew how precious those smiles were. He'd promised himself not to take even one of them for granted, not with her always going out on risky deals she might not come back from. He didn't care who called him a clown, if it made his wife happy.

Thirdly, cheerfulness irritated Jayne to no end. Unfortunately, the gun-happy man was not there to be annoyed. He was plastering himself with weapons in the cargo bay, ready for their meeting with the employer-neutralizer who was to buy the silk they'd found in their crates. Inara had taken herself off to service a prominent citizen—or at least Wash assumed he was prominent from the level of incense he'd sniffed on passing the shuttle. If the day went as days on Serenity usually did, cheerfulness would be called for.

"Watch out for the ice when you land," Mal cautioned for the third time. "And be ready to fire us up soon as these folk hand over the coin for the silk."

"And, ladies and gentlemen, another trusting soul stripped of its innocence." Wash angled the ship to the left. "I don't know if you've ever heard this, but crime corrupts."

"Thought it was power that corrupted," the captain retorted.

"Then we ought to be pure as angels. Might want to tell Jayne that he's fit all the guns he can onto the human body."

"Could be that's the proper notion." Mal went to go down the stairs.

"We'll be alright," Zoe said, reading Wash's mind. "Ain't likely to have nothing we can't deal with. And we're here before 'em, so there won't be no nasty traps."

Wash began bringing the ship in for landing. "I'm still going to sit here in suspense and wait for the lovely sound of your clomping boots in the cargo bay."

"Do that." Zoe kissed him and followed Mal off.

Kaylee wandered in just minutes after Wash had brought Serenity down. "Ya reckon they're gonna be fine?" she asked anxiously. "Woulda been safer to take the cloth to 'Nara's people."

"You know Mal. He doesn't worry about whether trouble's going to find him so long as he can yell loud enough to scare it off."

Kaylee giggled. "Well, it'd be real nice to have some extra coin for a change. I hear Beylix grows raspberries—could be they're sellin' 'em as jam when it snows like this. And I know 'Nara has a little extra cream—mayhap she'd be willin' to share."

"Zoe's and my anniversary is in three days," Wash said dreamily. "Not that I'm not ingenious enough to conjure a gourmet dinner out of thin air. But money does tend to help."

"Ya already know what you're gettin' her?"

Wash winked. "I've been planning and plotting and possibly scheming."

Kaylee leaned against the console. "Always did wonder what it'd be like to be married. My folks loved each other, right enough. But ya don't watch your parents too close when you're a kid, 'cause you're thinkin' everyone's like 'em."

Wash nodded. "Makes sense to me. But at least you have the stellar if often shouting example of Zoe and I before you."

"Couldn't think of a better. Can't be easy, bein' married shipside." Kaylee paused. "Sorry, don't mean to pry. Just always been curious."

"No, I get it. Not a whole lot of people around here you can ask."

"Yeah. Jayne and 'Nara ain't exactly the committed types." For a moment, Kaylee looked wistful, then it passed.

"Call the presses," Wash joked. "Jayne and Inara have something in common. You could ask Zoe too, if you want. Just no Mal, please." The last thing he wanted was for anyone else on Serenity to adapt Mal's views on matrimony.

"What's the captain got against romancin', do ya think?"

"I don't know." Wash found himself curious. Perhaps he'd ask Zoe about it later.

The com mounted on the console crackled into life, and Inara's voice flared out of it. "Serenity, this is Shuttle One, we have a problem."

Wash whirled around. "What is it?"

"It's Mahidol. He's gotten word of your pickup point and he's—"

"Wait, _who?"_

"Mahidol Angchuan, my client! He's with the law here in the city. Someone told him where you'd be to make the exchange, and he's sending a patrol out!"

_"Ai ya! Women wanle."_ Wash grabbed the handheld com. "Mal! Zoe! Law's got wind of this!"

It was his wife who answered. "How long 'til they're on us?"

Wash turned toward the mounted com. "How long, Inara?"

"I would say less than a minute, if—"

"We see 'em, Wash," Zoe interrupted, her voice calm. "Some problems on this end. The employer got un-neutralized. He's trying to use his amateur psychology on us again. Only this time with a gun."

"I'm firing it up." Wash handed the com to Kaylee and reached for the controls.

Thirty nerve-wracking seconds later, Mal's voice buzzed through the com. "We're in! Go!"

Wash lifted off smoothly. "Kaylee, I need you in the engine room. We'll have to go for hard burn."

"But we've been goin' hard burn for days, we'll run down the—"

Time for the trademark cheerfulness. "Now, genius mechanic, do you think I believe you can't make it work?"

"Okay, emergency. Got it." Kaylee ran out of the room, almost bumping into Zoe, Mal, and Jayne as they dashed up to the bridge.

"Them neutralizers took off opposite direction than we did," Jayne claimed. "Law can't follow both of us."

Wash would have exclaimed over the fact that Jayne could pronounce the word neutralizer, but decided to save that for later. "Looks like they chose us."

_"Gao yang zhong de gu yang!"_ Mal leaned forward. "Hurry, Wash, hurry!"

"If we had a credit for every time you told me to hurry, you'd be saying it a lot more often," Wash said, unfazed. "I'm going to take us out of atmo. We'll come back for Inara. Kaylee, you ready to hit that hard burn?"

"Got it all set up," came Kaylee's voice. "Won't last long, though."

Wash pushed the controls, blasting them out of atmo, and grinned at what he saw ahead. "We won't need long."

"What do ya—hey, watch it!" Jayne grabbed the back of Wash's chair as they narrowly missed an asteroid. "Ya gone off your head?" Wash ignored this, too busy steering through the group of orbiting rocks they'd encountered. "Listen! Listen, you'll get us killed, you'll—"

"Shut up," Mal ordered, tense.

Wash whipped around another asteroid, everything concentrated on guiding Serenity through the perilous route he'd deliberately dived into. The ship dove over and under the rocks, hurtling towards the center.

"They're following us, sir," Zoe said to Mal. "Ain't scared off."

Serenity spun, the gravity kicking in just a second on time. All the same, everyone felt the ship jerk and bounce. "Are we hit?" the captain demanded.

"No," Kaylee's voice called through the com. "My girl's all good."

They were nearly through now, Wash estimated as he jerked at the controls. Serenity swerved and bucked, a rain of gravel rattling against the hull. Now, if no ship parts broke, and they didn't hit anything he couldn't see, and Jayne didn't distract him with his antics, they ought to be just fine. Easy.

"That Fed ship's still behind us," Jayne gritted out, knocking off item number one in Wash's favor. "They're gonna— _oh."_

"What?" Wash didn't take his eyes from his piloting.

"They're hit," Zoe told him. "I don't know if they can—"

Serenity burst out of the asteroid group and shot towards the black. Jayne cheered, and Wash heard his wife let out the breath she'd been holding. Mal clapped Wash on the back. "Those Feds can't follow us, and that's truth. Reckon they'll limp on home alright, but they'll never stay on our trail."

Kaylee's voice sounded through the com. "We gonna go back for 'Nara now?"

"We'll turn around soon," Wash promised. "Just going to take the long way so she doesn't get confused with us disreputable folk."

**OoOoO**

Wash, wearing the knit hat Kaylee had made for him—which he was fairly sure had googly eyes—watched the mechanic skip through the delicately falling snow, her own pink knitted hat askew on her head. "C'mon, everyone, what're ya waitin' for? It's shiny out!"

"And cold," Inara laughed, stepping off Serenity. Wash noted with amusement that Inara, bundled up in at least three layers of sweaters and coats, still managed to look more elegant than the rest of them combined, though of course, nowhere near as beautiful as his warrior woman. "I should have brought another scarf."

Kaylee dropped down to the ground and swished her arms back and forth, making a snow angel. "Never had much snow at home. I remember the first time I saw it. Thought the sky was fallin' in little bits!"

Mal was still on the ship, having refused to "put up with that fooling when there's work to be done." Wash was fairly sure that he was actually just moving their now-silk-less crates of equipment from one side of the cargo bay to the other, but he knew how the war had left neither Zoe nor Mal fond of snow. He suspected the only thing that attracted his wife outside now was their mechanic's obvious delight in it.

"Kaylee, look at that!" Jayne shouted to her.

"What? Where?" Kaylee jumped to her feet, and got Jayne's snowball right in her face. "I'm gonna get ya for that!" she finally gasped, spitting out bits of snow.

"Ya can try!" Jayne took off in the other direction, only to yelp as Inara shoved a handful of snow down his collar.

Wash came thumping down the ramp and drew near Zoe. "Care to join in?" he offered softly.

Zoe shook her head. "Don't think so."

"Want me to stay?"

"Nah, go have fun."

Wash hugged her around the shoulders. "I'll be back." He dashed off Serenity, whacking Jayne on the back with a snowball of his own before long.

"Hey!" Jayne yelled. "Three against one ain't fair!"

"Are you calling a truce?" Inara inquired, a snowball in each hand.

"Ya mean am I backin' down? Not a chance!" Jayne tackled Wash, but found himself attacked by Kaylee from the other side. In between his hurling of snowballs, Wash listened in on Mal and Zoe's conversation.

"Gorram snow," Mal muttered. "Got no notion why they're so fond of it."

"Think they've got no notion why we hate it so. Well, 'cept for Wash."

"How would he know?"

"'Cause I told him, 'course."

Wash packed a snowball tight, remembering with a wince Zoe's tale of freezing soldiers stealing each other's clothes. He knew he shouldn't feel jealous—after all, he wouldn't want to go through a thing like that—but at times like this, he was more-than-usually aware that there were parts of Zoe he would never really understand.

"Why'd you do a thing like that? Tell him, I mean."

"'Cause we're married, sir."

"And you don't worry 'bout it driving you out of your mind as you tell it?"

"Going back and talking about it ain't the same as living it again, if that's what you're saying." Zoe paused. "Mayhap if you did it yourself, you'd get that."

"Don't need no one seeing what madness looks like, thanks. Don't need no one knowing what else I had to do, back in those months afore we got out."

"Keep telling you, sir, it weren't your fault. You blame the Alliance for everything else, why not blame that on 'em too?"

"We did that to ourselves. No way 'round it. Mayhap the snow story, that's decent to tell. But that ain't Serenity Valley."

Ducking a snowball hurled in his direction, Wash wondered just what they were talking about. He knew better than to ask, though. Zoe shared those stories with him when she was ready, and not a moment before.

"It ain't something you can just tell anyone. All I'm saying is, Wash is my husband, and if you had someone like him, you might feel the urge to talk it out too."

"Can't even imagine the kind of person who'd not turn on me if I mentioned that. Have to be too loyal for their own good, that's all I got to say. Going to go move them crates."

"You've moved 'em twice already," Zoe pointed out.

"Keeps me warmed up. You should try it." Wash heard Mal's footsteps fading back into Serenity.

"That's it!" Jayne flopped down on the snow. "Y'all got me beat."

"Aw." Kaylee reached out to give him a hand up, and promptly found herself whacked right in the chest with a snowball. "Hey! Cheater!"

"Takes more'n that to get me down," Jayne laughed, jumping up. "Worn out yet?"

Inara, who'd been sneaking up behind him, rammed a load of snow up the back of his shirt just as Wash hit him full in the face. Jayne yowled and shook the snow out of his eyes. "Mal needs help with them crates," he announced, and marched up the ramp. He went right past the captain and headed for his bunk.

"Serves ya right!" Kaylee called after him.

Wash chuckled. "Let him exit the field with dignity."

Inara gestured to the sky. "That may be your contact."

Sure enough, they could all see a shuttle flying up from the horizon, growing larger by the second. "Probably." Zoe nodded. "Sir? Time to unload those crates for real."

"And of course Jayne ain't here," Mal grumbled. "Thanks to his exiting the field with dignity and all. Wash, better get up to the bridge in case we have to make a quick getaway."

"Sounds like a plan, since you could set the clock by our need for quick getaways." Wash pulled off his hat-with-eyes and climbed the stairs.

Kaylee grabbed a crate. "I'll help ya move these, Captain, since Jayne ain't here."

"Alright, but you'd best take yourself elsewhere when the time comes for getting paid, 'case there's bullets flying."

**OoOoO**

"What glorious god has made this miracle?" Wash exclaimed. "Not only did you not get injured on the job, we've had the kitchen to ourselves for the whole dinner. Are we sure Jayne isn't hiding in some cupboard?"

"Wouldn't put it past him." Zoe plucked up the last bit of protein with her chopsticks. There hadn't been time to buy anything decent on Beylix. "But Kaylee's promised she'll give his guns a looking-over if he leaves us alone for tonight, and you know that man would sell his soul to keep his weapons in working order."

"He probably already has," Wash remarked. "It would explain his lack of one. But I'm glad she and Inara are scheming to let us have a for-once-private anniversary."

"What's Inara done?"

"Threatened Mal. Apparently she's got quite the list of clients eager for her attentions, and she's implied that if he doesn't leave us alone, she'll keep us on Persephone an extra week. As much as our beloved captain likes a good fight with our beloved Ambassador, I don't think he wanted to argue that one."

Zoe reached under the table and pulled out a wrapped box to hand to him. "Happy anniversary. Ain't much, but I hope you like it."

"I'll love it," Wash promised, pulling off the paper. "Ooh, what's this?" He held up the new plastic dinosaur. "I like the club tail."

"It's an ankylosaurus, according to the kid I bought it from. He said, and I quote: 'The armor was totally shiny 'cause then the T-Rex choked on it.'"

_"Baobei,_ are you trying to kill my T-Rex?"

Zoe chuckled. "Think I've got a right to attempt it. That stegosaurus I gave you last time is doomed to death; I'm just trying to get one of my gifts to survive."

"Who says the stegosaurus is doomed to death?"

"I guessed it when you informed me that its brain is the size of a golf ball. Not sure what golf is, but I'm guessing from how you said it that the ball ain't that big. 'Specially since it follows the T-Rex around all the time."

Wash grinned. "You're right. Betrayal from that end will be sudden but inevitable. Why was a kid selling his plastic dinosaurs?"

"Think his folks were pretty hard off and he got it into his head to help somehow."

"Let me guess. You paid him four times what anyone else would have."

"He mentioned his family just needed twenty more credits to cover the rent for the year. Could hardly say no." Zoe shook her head. "I told him you were liable to take excellent care of it."

"Oh, I will, don't worry." Wash placed the dinosaur on the table with care, and pulled out his gift, hoping Zoe would like it. "This is for you. Careful to keep it right side up."

Zoe gingerly took the package and eased the paper off. It was a bottle partially filled with earth. Green vines had sprouted, curling wildly into a cloud of leaves, all visible through the glass. "That's...beautiful. Is it alive?"

Wash beamed. "Yes. They're spiderworts. Gardens in a bottle, they call those. And you know the new chargers they give you, so you can grow small plants in the black? I got you one of those too."

_"Jing cai."_ Zoe held the bottle up to the light. "How often do I water it?" 

"That's the best part. You don't have to. It's a self-containing ecosystem. It gets watered once. The light from the charger will make the water evaporate, and then it 'rains' back down on the plants. They drink it, and the whole thing starts again. Or at least, so I'm told by those who make them. We'll have to watch it and see what happens."

"It's lovely. How did you get the idea?"

"You hate winter, and we'll always have to land on icy planets sometimes," Wash said. "I thought if you had a living plant around, that might help."

To Wash's great pleasure, Zoe leaned over and kissed him, then raised her voice. "If anyone's listening—and it'll be a miracle if none of you are—we'll be in our bunk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gardens-in-a-bottle really exist. A man named David Latimer has one at the moment that he hasn't watered in years. If we can do that now, by the time Firefly begins they may very well be available as gifts.


	10. Playing God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another of those funny canon things. In Firefly Simon doesn't seem to know that the people at the Academy opened up River's brain until he sees it in the neuro-imager in Ariel. However, in Serenity the movie Dr. Mathias mentions neural stripping, and the fact that River is psychic, when talking to Simon in the Academy, which supposedly took place before Ariel. So I've just decided that, in my inner canon, Simon needs to actually get a look at River's brain through the neuro-imager before he can help, and doesn't tell the crew about her possibly being a psychic because he's afraid they'll get rid of her.
> 
> Earlier version beta'd by KrisEleven.
> 
> Translations: Are below.
> 
> Tian-sha de e-mo—Goddamn monsters  
> Meimei—Little sister  
> Ai ya. Tian a—Merciless hell  
> Fei hua—Rubbish

**The planet Osiris, March of the year 2517**

"Have you ever watched a person starve to death?" Ahuva sat beside Simon on Mahdavi's back steps.

"We're doctors," Simon pointed out, shaving wood off the carved doll in his hands. "Our job is to _keep_ people from starving to death."

Ahuva tapped her fingers on the railing. "I know you've seen gunshot wounds, knife wounds. Do you know what disease does to a population?"

"I know the numbers." Simon worked at the base of the doll with his knife. "I'm aware it's not the same. But why are you asking?"

"Because if someone doesn't warn you, it'll break your heart," Ahuva said frankly. "I know how you want to fix everything."

Simon frowned. "I know I can't. If you play God, you make a devil, that's what I've always thought."

"Not what I meant. You care too much, Simon, I know that about you. I expect people have told you how risky it'll be to get River out. But if you do, and you go to the border planets, you'll find people who are broken beyond repair."

"I've watched people die." Simon chipped harder at the doll. "Much as I hate to say it."

Ahuva waved this away. "Because there was nothing to be done. When people die out there, it can be for ridiculous reasons. Not enough water, or water that's infected. No equipment for doctors. To hell with that, no doctors."

Simon set down his knife. "That's not right."

"I happen to agree, but it doesn't matter. Our morality can't change their lives."

**OoOoO**

Simon did his best to stay still, and not jump up and pace around the room. He, Geming, Sumner, and Csizmadia were in 193 Jade Street again, waiting for the informer Swallowtail to show up. If she didn't…if she lost her nerve, or if this was a trap…

There was a timid knock on the door. Csizmadia got up. "I'll signal. Dr. Tam, if Sumner and Geming take off, go with them." She vanished into the hall. Simon noticed both men resting hands on their guns.

"We'd have given you a pseudonym," Geming said, "but it's no use for her, she's a supervising scientist at the Academy and she's got your River's records. She knows who ya are. When ya talk with others, you'll get one."

A few moments later, a brown-eyed woman with dark, curly hair appeared around the corner, following Csizmadia. She looked exhausted and shaken, though Simon expected that after two years of constant searching and turmoil, he looked little better.

"I hacked the Academy database again before this meeting," Csizmadia announced. "Still not much, but a list of instructors, at least." She tossed an ident card to Sumner. "This matches up. Check for forgery marks, please."

Simon stared at Csizmadia. "You hacked the Academy database? Again? I couldn't even _find_ the Academy database."

"It's my job. Is it genuine?"

"As far as I can tell, darling," Sumner replied. Simon peered over at the ident card. Dr. Katsumi Warder, it read, and contained almost no other information.

Geming sat forward in his chair. "So. Swallowtail."

"There's no need to call me that anymore, now that you know my name," Swallowtail said quietly. "Katsumi will be fine."

"Not Dr. Warder?" Simon asked, curious.

Katsumi stared at her hands. "I'm afraid I've violated enough of the Hippocratic Oath to be denied the title."

"Kindly tell Dr. Tam what you know of his sister," Sumner said. "He has been searching for quite some time."

"River..." Katsumi looked pleadingly at Simon. "Dr. Mathias came to me early on and asked for my help. You have to understand, I thought my work would enhance her natural intuitive abilities. There was supposed to be proper therapy after the...I set limits, parameters...I put care into the operating model, I would never have imagined..."

"Ya ain't bein' that clear," Geming pointed out.

"No. No, I suppose not." Katsumi pressed her eyes shut for a moment. "Dr. Mathias was in charge of the project. He...he wanted me to come up with a model for neural stripping..."

Simon cut her off, terrified. "Neural stripping? What happened? What was the accident?"

Katsumi looked miserable. "There was no accident."

"But why would anyone do neural stripping if the brain wasn't injured?"

"To play God," Csizmadia said shortly.

"It was supposed to be a simple surgery," Katsumi insisted. "Just to make River more intuitive." Her voice rose angrily. "It _would_ have been a simple surgery if they'd kept with mine alone. But they combined it. I don't know how, but according to them...they made her a psychic."

Geming broke the stunned silence. "Ya really think they could do somethin' like that?"

"I don't know. That's what the files say. I dug them out when I got suspicious..." Katsumi trailed off, then tried to recover. "Whether it's true or not...I did counseling with River before the surgery. She was so wonderful, so bright, so sweet...They wouldn't let me in to see her afterwards, but I saw a recording. She was screaming, she was tied down..."

Simon lost it. _"Tian-sha de e-mo_ _,_ all of you! She's seventeen!" Memories of River hit him hard. "She was excited to go, she wanted to learn, so much! How dare you take her life and play with it! How dare you let them hurt her!"

"I didn't have a choice!" Katsumi cried. "Do you know what they'd have done to me if I'd said no?"

"I don't care what they'd have done to you!" Simon hissed. "She's my _meimei!_ Not a toy, not a tool, and certainly not a playground for your _simple surgeries!"_

Sumner shook his head, mouth tight. "Were I to live two lifetimes, I could never understand such sadism."

Tears leaked from Katsumi's eyes. "I don't know why I didn't think. It seems so obvious now. But I want to help. I want her out of there."

Geming took her in. "Can ya get us blueprints, mayhap?"

"I can get you more than that," Katsumi said, wiping her eyes. "But there's something you should know, Dr. Tam. The files I dug out also gave some indications that River was embedded with behavioral conditioning."

"To do what?" Simon almost regretted asking; he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Katsumi shook her head. "I don't know. They could just have been trying to keep her from resisting the psychological methods. That's the most likely explanation."

Csizmadia frowned. "What's the unlikely one?"

Katsumi choked on her words; it was Sumner who answered. "She could be psychic. They'd want to keep a spy docile." Simon's fists clenched.

"Either way, you should all know..." Katsumi cleared her throat. "There's a...well, it was marked 'emergency safe-word.' I believe it's supposed to neutralize her, though I'm not sure how. But you should know it, Dr. Tam."

"But if you aren't sure how—it could kill her!"

"Listen," Csizmadia broke in. "What if _she_ was going to kill someone? Wouldn't you want to be able to stop her?"

"River would never hurt anyone."

"Ya don't know that," Geming said without pity. "Ya ain't seen her in three years."

"If you want us to help you," Sumner said, "you had best learn this safe-word and promise to use it if you must."

Simon would have promised anything at that point. "Alright. What is it?"

"Eta Kooram Nah Smech. The files marked it as Russian, from Earth-That-Was."

"Eta Kooram Nah Smech. I'll remember." Simon desperately wanted to dismiss the warnings of the others, but he couldn't quite forget his own words to Ahuva.

_If you play God, you make a devil._

**The planet Osiris, April of the year 2517**

Simon did his best to ignore the throbbing pain in his head, and tried to calm himself through regulated breathing—a strategy which, according to all the most current Osiris medical journals, should have worked quite well. Apparently the test cases run by Osiris medical journals did not include knocking out their subjects, tying them to chairs in pitch-black rooms for hours, and disregarding their initial terrified screaming.

Alright, so maybe this wouldn't work. Simon cursed himself for remaining at the meeting point for twenty minutes after Geming hadn't shown up when he should. Obviously there had been a reason the man had neglected to come. Whether it was because he and his compatriots had decided Simon wasn't worth it and to turn him in, or whether they'd been betrayed themselves, his absence should have been an alert that something was wrong.

_They're hurting us. Get me out. They're hurting us..._

No. He couldn't think about River right now; it would only cloud his judgment. Fine. Name all the bones in the foot. Cuboid, lateral cuneiform, intermediate cuneiform, medial cuneiform, metatarsals, phalanges—and River would be trapped there in a living nightmare for years, waiting and waiting for him to come—

No. He had to keep his feelings under control. Alright, name his carving tools. Standard knives, detail knives, chip carving knives, chisels, gouges. When he found River, he'd carve her a doll, a pretty doll. Not a matryoshka, they required a lathe, but she loved drawing those, used to draw them, before—

A creak, a door swung open, and a light went on, so bright Simon had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, it was to see a short yellow-haired woman standing before his chair, while a tall, bony man stood by with a gun Simon doubted he himself could lift. Two doors, he saw, which would increase the opportunity for escape if he weren't outnumbered and tied up anyway.

"Hey," the woman said conversationally. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Tam. Or can I call you Simon?"

Simon swallowed, hating that his voice shook. "What's going on?"

"Fallen in with criminals so young." The woman sounded almost mournful. "It's a pity you went straight to the big leagues. Should've just snuck into a blackout zone, then you might've gotten off."

"Big leagues?" Simon watched her warily. How much did they know already? And who were they? This wasn't normal Fed behavior by any means.

"Geming and Sumner." The woman smirked. "Or didn't you know your friends are plotting rebellion?"

Rebellion? Simon blinked. Planning to rescue River might not be legal, but it surely wasn't full-scale rebellion. Of course, why would Geming and Sumner tell him everything they were up to? Sumner's words from the night they'd met came back to him. _It would build confidence in our ranks. That's been sorely lacking lately._

"Oh, well, maybe you didn't know. I'd wish you good luck convincing a jury of that, but I'm not at all sure you'll get to trial. It doesn't matter anyway." The woman pulled a knife from a sheath on one boot. "We just need to know how to find them. Do us all a favor and make it easy."

Simon stared at the knife, befuddled, wishing his head would stop throbbing so he could think. "Easy?"

"You've heard the word, I imagine. It means the opposite of difficult. In this case, difficult means a lot of torment for you and an extra hour cleaning the knife for me. Does that clear things up?"

Terror swamped Simon. _"Ai ya. Tian a."_

"Oh, don't go into hysterics. Just tell me how to find your rebels." The woman examined her knife with detached interest. "You'll break eventually, so you might as well save us both the trouble."

"I don't know where they stay! You think they trust me with everything?"

"You know where they meet, I expect. I'm pleased to know you're a doctor, by the way. Like me, you study the human body, though I expect our aims are different. You've seen what pain will do to other people; perhaps it will make you amenable."

Simon had seen it, alright. He'd seen patients pleading and howling until their throats tore out, seen them writhe until they had to be sedated. And he'd always assumed that after a certain point, a person would do anything to make the torment stop, no matter the long-term cost.

_Anything? Would I really do anything?_

"I'm waiting, Simon. Tell me where they meet."

_How do I know they aren't hurting River even more than this woman will hurt me?_

"Come on. No cost to you."

_But I'm not the only one who matters._

She would kill him, when she was done with him. She'd have to, even if she was Alliance. Torture wasn't legal, and he'd be evidence.

"You can save yourself so much pain this way."

_I'm going to die. That means..._

That meant the only people who knew River was in trouble and could help her were Geming, Sumner, and their allies. Which meant if he betrayed them, he'd betray hi _s_ sister too. "I don't know how to find them."

"Alright, fine." Before Simon could think, the knife slashed deep into his leg—and he'd never known agony like that, his whole body screaming. "Hard way. Where are they?"

"I...can't...find them."

The woman shrugged, rotated the knife in her hand, and buried it nearly hilt-deep in his thigh—he couldn't think now, there was pain beyond thought and hot blood everywhere when she yanked the blade free. "We can stay here all night. I'm patient."

Simon realized through a haze of adrenaline that if he opened his mouth, he'd spill what he knew. He gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut. He'd bite his own tongue off if that was what it took. _River..._

Then there was a thump and a shot. Simon's eyes flew open to see a strange man standing in one doorway, and the guard on the floor with a bullet between his eyes. The woman whirled around, dropping the knife and going for the gun at her waist, but before she could raise it, Csizmadia stepped through the other door and twisted it straight out of her hand. The next second, she'd kicked the woman down to her knees and slammed the weapon against the back of her head, knocking her out.

The strange man pulled out a knife of his own and began cutting the ropes that tied Simon. "What an amateur."

Csizmadia snorted. "Catch me interrogating anyone in a room with two doors. And only elementary psychological methods. You stay calm, Dr. Tam, and we'll get you to a medic."

Simon, recovering from his shock long enough to remember his doctor's training, stripped off his vest and held it to his thigh. "I'm sorry—I—"

"Not your fault," Csizmadia said briskly, nodding to the strange man. "Douglas, give him the gun for a minute."

"Give _him_ the gun?" Douglas looked incredulous. "What—"

"We have to get rid of her." Csizmadia gestured to the woman on the floor. "Better he learns how to kill now than when he's got someone conscious and begging for their life."

Simon stared, horrified, momentarily distracted from his own injuries. "You're telling me to shoot her? When she can't fight back?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"No. I can't." Simon shrank back from the weapon that Douglas was now holding out to him. "I don't even know how to use a gun."

"Point taken." Csizmadia picked up the torturer's knife and slapped in into his hands. "Use this. Carotid artery. You're a doctor, you know where it is. We haven't got all night."

"I don't kill people!"

"Learn to. Someday it'll be you between your sister and some bounty hunter or Fed who wants to take her away, so get this lesson under your belt now."

_River._

"Don't think about it," Douglas advised. "Just do it."

_Carotid artery._

It was only the feel of the hot blood on his fingers, wrists, palms, that made Simon realize what he'd done. The shock, coupled with the pain from his own lacerations, dazed him so far that he barely remembered stumbling out of the room.

**OoOoO**

"How did you know?" Simon craned his neck to look at Csizmadia, his voice hoarse. Dr. Mahdavi, who was now stitching up his leg, had given him a local anesthetic, but that couldn't completely erase the pain.

"How did I know what?"

"You said that the woman I—the bounty hunter—only used elementary psychological methods. How did you know? You weren't there."

"Not in the room." Csizmadia set aside the hacking rig on which she'd been tapping. "But Douglas and I were listening in."

A sick feeling of betrayal broke over Simon. "What? For how long?"

"Since a little while before that woman and her guard came in."

"You heard me screaming and you just—and then you let her _torture_ me—"

Csizmadia leaned her elbows on her knees. "She wasn't going to do permanent damage for a while yet. I know their kind. They consider themselves gorram artists, even if they're relatively clumsy."

Mahdavi finished the last stitch. "We're just about done. You should heal fairly well, so long as you don't overexert—"

Simon waved her off, turning back to Csizmadia. "Why would you take that risk at all?"

"Because I wanted you to learn to handle that kind of pain. It won't be the last time this happens to you. Even if you gave up on your sister now, you'd always be in danger from having associated with us. And I don't think you're going to give up."

"You let her cut into me with a knife!" Simon tried to rein himself in, knowing that offending her could jeopardize River's chances. "That's—"

"We all go through it," Csizmadia cut him off. "Even if we're lucky enough never to get tortured by an enemy, our organization puts every one of us in a nerve stimulator until we're screaming, just so we learn there are worse things in the 'verse than pain."

"You _let_ someone do that to you?"

"Yes, and it was good, because it's happened for real. I have burn scars all over me and my husband's gone through electrocution. Did you ever really think about how Geming got all those scars on his face? Or ask _her_ what she went through after she got arrested?" Csizmadia jerked her head at Mahdavi, who was now wrapping Simon's leg in bandages. "The Alliance isn't precisely gentle with those it doesn't like, not when no one's watching."

Simon closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself, quench the terror. _Oh, River. I could never do this for myself. Or anyone but you._ "The bounty hunter said you were plotting rebellion. And you said something about your organization."

Csizmadia nodded. "I suppose you have a right to know a little, and you'd learn some of it eventually anyway. We're part of an underground movement called TALENT. Stands for The Alliance Liberation: End the Network of Tyranny."

Simon took a breath, trying to wrap his mind around that. "How big is your movement—TALENT? What is it you do?"

"We have what you might call branches in most systems. And we very rarely speak of our projects specifically. The more people who know, the more we risk." Csizmadia pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "In general, it tends to be breakouts, sabotage, organizing work stoppage. Classic resistance acts."

Resistance acts. Simon's parents, his friends, his colleagues, would call those treachery. They'd call the breakouts barbaric, the sabotage terrorism, and the work stoppage grievous irresponsibility. Frankly, Simon had spent most of his life believing the same. But playing with the brain of a seventeen-year-old girl was barbaric. Alliance-sanctioned torture could be called terrorism too. And Simon was beginning to think that to have accepted his government at face value his whole life had been grievous irresponsibility.

_I don't know what's right anymore._

**OoOoO**

"You've barely talked for days." Simon jerked at the sound of Mahdavi's voice, turning to see her standing beside his chair, hands on hips. "Not to mention you've been neglecting to eat and haven't touched your carvings. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

Mahdavi shifted a stack of books and seated herself on the sofa across from him. _"Fei hua._ Could be it's just that you got stabbed, but I'm betting not."

Simon stared at his feet. "I—had to do something. That I wish I hadn't had to do."

"You killed someone, didn't you?"

"How the—how did you know?"

"Educated guess." Mahdavi leaned back. "I knew you'd probably have to eventually. If someone was cutting on me, I'd kill them. And you've been acting pretty haunted, this past little while."

"I didn't want to." Simon bit the inside of his mouth. "What kind of a doctor am I, now? I cut an artery! I took a human life! And I can't even allow myself to grieve about it, because then maybe I wouldn't be able to kill again, and—and I'll probably have to." The words made him feel ill.

"I don't have answers for you." Mahdavi watched him, eyes level. "I guess it just comes down to this—what do you care about more, the life and morality you have now, or your sister?"

Simon thought of River at five, doing calculus under the covers with a flashlight far past midnight. He thought of River at seven, luring crows to her window with her rhinestone hairpins. He thought of River at ten, designing the ideal language, with 'to love' being the only irregular verb. He thought of River at fourteen, telling him an Earth-That-Was legend about a woman who loved the stars so much she left her home to become one of them.

"There are two things I'd fight to the death for. My sister and my home." He paused. "And yes. In that order."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pseudonym in this chapter is a tip of the hat to Frederick Douglas, the United States abolitionist.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews/comments are most welcome.


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